Allow me; if I may, to as a rhetorical question: who loves reading? Most people today love a good story to cuddle up to on a couch during a summer rainstorm. If the power goes, out, and the electronics are gone for the evening, a lantern and epic story are all that keeps you from stir-craziness in the silence of modern disconnection.
We delve deep into the canvas-cowled thoughts of the author, giving hints and measured plot to keep each page turning until the next purchase. Nothing is more threatening of a risk in business than storytelling. It is feasibly the most indoctrinated way to end ones career, simply by being original. A book sold today, doesn't necessarily mean a book sold tomorrow, or the next! With experience comes an understanding of the readership, but until that time is measured, until each hit-and-miss is accounted for in the portfolio, there is only the roughing it style of disorganization, and pillaging the far corners of the web for an opportunity where oppurtunities are met in callous business deals. This here is not a testament of writing, we are far past those obligations, and it certainly isn't about the business of writing, that too has come to pass. This is a declaration of self-destruction, a caliber of indignant malice that comes from only failing over, and over again, saying in perfect recollection to your a user, "Thank you, may I please have another one." Getting hit on the lip, and biting through the blood and puss for another smack to follow. This is how writers tough it out, and the ones that get pushed to the back of the line, and keep on fighting for the crumbs of others' scraps.
Failure, I've spoken of it, I've done it many a times, and it never gets any easier. Sure, you can keep telling yourself that many people try and fail, but only get better, and only get rewarded for such perseverance. One can be ignorant in knowing that their time is coming, because eventually it's deserved. The truth is men and women who aspire to any form of greatness know that no-matter the variables they go through to reach a particular goal, there will always be the possibility that failure is all they will ever achieve, and other paths, paths that are deemed more acceptable, "realistic" are the altitude of which they should have scaled, for those obstacles, although equally plenty, are for nought without a measurement of success. It takes a real loon, a true psychotic to continue down a path of destruction measured only in rejection letters and a bottle of booze to calm the senses.
Combating these issues is only to push forward with every slap, every slip into a face-full of shit from elephant dung misery. It is the crucible of baring the mark of the forsaken, and striving to be the leader of the pack. That is with baring grim teeth knocked about by a world that doesn't care if you're a success, or a bum, and spitting up bloody bile, only to reach for a thimble of gold. A battered, broken failure is a dog with a fight that has to be won, and biting below the belt isn't necessarily dirty tactics insomuch it becomes a strategy, and an immoral, if-not winning one that invokes the kind of desire to keep on getting beaten to a bloody pulp.
The grim language I use isn't for shock, it's for truth. Some of us know it is rock bottom, and beyond with a jackhammer until we hit the very lowest of lows, and turn around to call that a "minor setback", only to discover we've been doing circles around a litter box, trying to find the corner that smells less like shit. Can I tell you all a secret? I fucking hate losing, I really, really want to be traveling the nation, signing number-one best-sellers, while getting options for plays, netflix series, and asked to write primetime television shows. I want to be the guy on the red carpet that doesn't get any airtime because I'm a writer, and I look like a pile of dung, but a very creative, intelligent pile of dung thwt has to be recognized before all the beautiful people get their shiny trophy in-lieu of making my imagination spring to life in a way I could've never imagined!
I'm not saying you, or the person next to you, or the guy with forty years more experience than I will ever have doesn't deserve it more. I'm not entitled, but that doesn't make me wish I was, or hunger for the desire to finally be in the sort of stress I love, than the stress I hate. We all want to be famous it seems, but I only ask to be immortalized through a passion for typed keys, and brainstorms turned classics.
Failing sucks so much, especially if all you've ever loved, and known you were superior at doing was thrown in your face over-and-over again with some elitist whose only quip came at the end of a martini, and never a quill that it was "not enough". Not enough?! I could bleed out on pages, I could gather a think-tank of the greatest minds of youth and age to come together and pen out the next Oscar-sweeper, I can make the sociopath feel, and emote for the first time in their depraved, misshaped lives! I know why I survived the death-defying process of birth: it was to write for the world, to tell stories only I can tell, and; I swear I say this without malice or spite: to be better than you.
I'll prove my greatness, I may be on my deathbed whence it comes to pass, I may have gone away to the clod of organic decay for worms to bare life before I'm accepted amongst those affiliated with greatness, but it will do so! I urge for you to do so as well! We simply need each other to impress upon the rest that competition is what generates greatness. Even Leonardo Da Vinci needed to compete against the greatest of his times, and he was better for it. Lazy minds create dismal art, and dismal art is buried by gods.
Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial, I greatly appreciate feedback, and thank every reader that comes to this site. For almost eleven/twelve(?) years now, I've been not only inspired by, but pushed by you to create original, entertaining, if-not thought-compelling short stories, editorials and reviews that are honest, bias at times reviews/previews of all things digital/analog entertainment, and straight-up prose.
I appreciate everyone that comes to this blog, that reads it, and those who follow me on Twitter, which is twitter.com/mcasteditorial, and @mcasteditorial. I update as often as I can, and I give incite into posts. Thank you all again,mand have a great morning/day/night.
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