The Write Mind
I start to type
The hardest thing I found was to name my chapters. It's ridiculous. How does someone come up with a name for their chapter? Hasn't the site considered how exhausted I am?
"Fuck you," I whisper as I stare into my monitor.
I live all these years among my wars and struggle. These writings are supposed to be proof that it was all worth it, right...? So why the hell can't I even come up with a title for my chapter? Do I make it something sophisticated and deep or something catchy that'll get me clicks? Can I do a bit of both?
As I type this, I spilled another bottle of water. Leaving them on the floor doesn't really scream hygienic but I write on my sofa because it's what's comfortable. Of course, my water bottles have to be on the floor. Where else would I put them?
Gahhhh, what the hell am I doing? I can barely figure out what this paragraph would be about. Should I just delete this draft? And fuck you too viewer, I know what you're thinking. 'Well, I'm reading this right now, so I know he ends up deciding to publish it.' Fucks sake, it's a story dumbass. That's how they work. You read it. I wonder, would they like my story?
I think back to before I even knew what I wanted to do with my life. I was a facade. I didn't act myself, I didn't show myself. I was afraid of myself or more so how others would see me. I'm nothing like that now. At least not entirely... Thanks to them I've become much better. I wonder if they'd remember me? Probably not...
It's been a while since I had a dialogue line. It's hard when writing an intricate character who thinks a lot. You kind of forget they have a third-person existence.
"But that's fine right? I'm talking out loud now. My house is big enough so my parents wouldn't hear me but to be honest the second I hear their footsteps on the staircase, I'm shutting up. I chuckle my way through these words cause it feels weird talking to myself. When I write, I feel like I'm also communicating with myself but without this weirdness, I feel now. I'm so fucking stupid. I put the other muffle of my headset back in. Is it even called a muffle? I genuinely don't know but it sounds like it would be. That's what I'll call it from now on. It makes it so I hear my voice, less. But I can still hear myself. I wonder, am I instinctively talking louder?"
People will hate this story. It's fair too. There's not a purpose to it. It's meaningless but something tells me that even among the emptiness this novel provides, someone will carve their own fortune from it. Deriving meaning from story is what makes the medium fascinating, right? Some would disagree but at the end of the day, they simply interpreted a different meaning than I. Checkmate, fucking losers.
I'm a schoolboy. A damn good one at that too. I have many friends, amazing grades, and maybe even a few ladies who look my way. Despite this, I still feel empty. I hate my lack of motivation to workout. I had some good progress going and it's still on and off but damn I need to get back in the game. And don't even get me started on writing. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing!!!! I love stories and I love making my own but then why...? Why does it tax my heart so much?
There's no melodrama in my life at the present moment. I've led a dramatic life that you'll learn far more about incoming entries but that's not now. Right now, I live a rather peaceful life. So tell me why I have never felt so lost? Perhaps I'm not lost, maybe I just don't know where I found myself...
If you're still reading this, I'm not too sure why. I love my audience but I'm sure I really love the attention more. Is that instinctive or am I that terrible? Either way, that's all I feel like writing for now. As for my other story... I have a few chapters ahead on that with my weekly schedule. Yikes.. I'll see about it.
Thank you for reading but also fuck you for existing. Thank you and fuck you for everything. It's all yours and my fault. We got this buddy. I'll see you next time.
I close my laptop