Video Credit: Shea
This was originally written for just one person, But in my vain vanity fantasy, I decided to ‘Shit-Post’ it here.
(Because I am adrift at sea… And exhibiting my most hated characteristics: self-pity and self-loathing)
These are gonna come off as some really vain, pompous questions, but questions I struggle with every day:
1. Am I ‘Interesting?’
2. Is my writing worth a fuck?
3. Or am I just another asshole?
4. Who calls Himself a ‘Writer?’
(There are many more I beat myself up over, and if you drill down into my archives, you may be happy/unhappy to discover them, but for the purposes of THIS Post, They are Not Germane.)
Not fishing for validation, compliments, nor smoke blown up my vanity ass—Honesty.
Honesty is what I need. All I desire.
If my writing is only self-serving, then I am a failure (as a writer)
Please be honest—Trust me: I can take it—There is no harsher critic of me, than me.
Sometimes I feel lost at sea—And, as a sailor, this is never a good thing.
I keep watching/listening to Bukowski and asking myself these questions.
Take some time with your respond:
I am way past the point of counting upon ‘Instant Gratification.’
Cheers My Good,
–Many-Feet Marcom—Wanna-Be Writer