95. Flatline

Hey. Hey. You wanna know something?

This blog hasn’t had a single hit in 48 hours. It has been a long, tiring, tedious journey – but it has finally paid off. I have scared everyone off this site. Not even the NSA is interested in this blog now, despite it being open to the public. You know what they say – when you need to hide a tree, you hide it in the forest.

Now that this space is hidden in plain sight, it’s time to launch the secret diabolical mission.

(evil cackle)

Really now. I started this space as a 365-day writing exercise, and a 365-day writing exercise it shall be. I constantly remind myself that the purpose of the exercise is to put words on screen – no matter how tired, how zoned out, how busy I find myself – to get just that little bit better at this insane craft of creating something out of nothing every day.

Though I must admit that it is a little disheartening to see that no one’s really interested. It takes a little bit of my soul away each time I put actual effort into cobbling words together and find out that no one has seen it. You see, I’m the kind of worst kind of writer there is – the one that craves for attention and affection. I need to parade my work before an audience and have them adore my words so that I can get for my gratification.

(I sometimes pity my friends whom I force my stories upon; but alas, at the end of the day, selfish ambition triumphs over all)

Well, I can’t blame anyone either – it’s not like I’m saying anything particularly important, or imparting useful advice of any sort. Maybe I should transform this page to something like cracked.com, complete with catchy, attention-grabbing titles (“4 Ways Thor: The Dark World Totally Ripped Off Older Movies”, “3 Simple Things You’ve Been Doing Wrong Your Whole Life”) and an absolutely asinine style of writing.

(would you check out that alliteration!)

But I will not.

(a writing exercise it is, a writing exercise it shall be)

While the rain clouds were clearing earlier this afternoon, I was staring out of an open window, experiencing an early-life crisis of sorts. Can I really write and be happy just doing that? Do I want to write for a living? It seems like hardly the practical thing to do, given the job market.

It’s a real struggle.

I have come here to write. I have come here to hone my skills. I have come here to perfect my craft. I have come here to train my voice. I’m not trying to be the most popular guy out there (though it would be rather nice), and I’m definitely not trying to be any of the successful writers who have come before me.

I want to be true to myself – to speak with the voice that is uniquely mine – and have a little recognition to my name for it.

Is it too much to ask?