I am nothing but a cowardly poser

There is something to say about my writing habits. I love writing and I change my style constantly, from the trite and direct to the whimsy and thoughtful. I make jagged edges that are impossible to ignore and easy enough to understand. In a perfect world I would say I write for me but that is very much a lie in this timeline. I put my pieces out there and in some I take pride, either with a devilish character or an interesting setting or maybe concept but none of which feel like me. My writing journey is very much like my spiritual one and is very much dependent on the importance that I put on reputation.
When reputation became important to me is unclear, and maybe arose in little moments, like when my mother told me to “not act like a child” in the grocery store when I was under the age of 8. I say this not to make my mother seem callous but to show that I grew up with standards and expectations and ultimately it has made me into the person I am for which I am ultimately proud. But the idea of reputation also has determined my spiritual self. I look at the world and what the world respects. The world is foolish and thinks that despite the space that lies in each dimension there is no room for religion. I want to be respected and renowned by those scholars the ones that are considered realists. Why a realists would want to read fiction is an entirely different thought that I have never resolved myself. But anyway the “realists”. I write for realists so therefore I write for fools. Those who can only comprehend what is in front of them. I write for these fools so they will respect me so they will give me praise because according to everyone else they are right and not the dreamers. This taught me privacy. Restrictions never solve problems, they never make people pick right they just make people more secretive. My personal beliefs remain hidden and seperate from my work. Whether this is good or bad is up to debate but for the longest time, and even now I don’t write for myself because those are two different things.
When I first started reading I read fantasy. It made me love writing, it made me thrive for innovative thought and is what made me pay attention during english, so perhaps I could take home what I learned and write it in my san rio journal.  Fantasy intrigued me, it was story telling at its finest because it was fueled only by imagination and not skewed versions of the now. I wrote without shame until the teenage years where we all learn to reign ourselves back so people will like us and we can have a place in society. I am not saying this is wrong, it is important for young teenagers to learn that not everyone wants to here you brag about you endlessly for hours.  I learned that most people didn’t like fantasy. They liked mystery and action and political drama. I love these things too but not as much as I love fantasy. When my creative writing self was half way through puberty I realized that on paper, I was funny or could be funny. It was something I was good at. My comedic works made people laugh, a lot of people but my quest for fantasy would never yield that result, that ability to touch that many people in any way.
In my opinion fantasy hits us hard, right in the humanity but it is rare. There are so many unread fantasies, too many and simply my odds were worse and I was self conscious.
I don’t mind self consciousness it in a way is a sense of awareness, it keeps people like me humble and in check. It is when it limits you and your willingness to indulge ambition. Fantasy is hard. Hard to write and hard to get people to like. I want to start wiring, to find myself to put forth the story that is inside me that needs to come out. I need to put all other works aside and focus on my story where I can be me. I will be happy if one other person reads it. Even happier if one person likes it. If that one person is me, I am at peace.


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