A Vain Vain Vain Fantasy Insanity Vanity Re-Post–“THIS ONE Too! My Writing, Self-Delusional Façade” Am I A Writer? No. I Don’t Think So. Nice Try Lance Asshole!

I Have Noticed, of Late,

That I Cannot Procreate…

Nor Create

Decent Prose.

*Heavy Sigh*

***

I Wanna Be A Paperback Writer

So You Wanna Be A Writer?

(Charles Bukowski)

So, You Want To Be A Writer?

Charles!

Video Credit: Shea et Al

This was originally written for just one person, But in my vain vanity fantasy, I decided to ‘Shit-Post’ it here.

(Because I am Lost at sea… And exhibiting my most hated characteristics: self-pity and self-loathing)

Lost at Sea

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 schmuck?

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 all I need. All I desire.

Billy Joel–‘Honesty’

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,

Honest Friends,

–Many-Feet Marcom—Wanna-Be Writer

2 thoughts on “A Vain Vain Vain Fantasy Insanity Vanity Re-Post–“THIS ONE Too! My Writing, Self-Delusional Façade” Am I A Writer? No. I Don’t Think So. Nice Try Lance Asshole!

  1. johncoyote

    Thank you so much John.

    I have more to say on this subject, but right now I am watching piss-pants Joe — State-of-the-Union

  2. Us, who love to write. We are mad-men and mad-women. I will publish some books this year. I have 2500 poems and stories. I better do soon, or I will never do. I met Bukowski, a long time ago. I bought the drinks, and I didn’t know who he was. He told me. You write like shit. Live and suffer some more. You will write better.

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