Writing, Just Can’t Help It

I love to write. It’s so fun. Creating a story, whole worlds sometimes out of nowhere, just using words. Lines and squiggly things — letters — put together to make words. It’s kind of amazing… and weird. And ridiculous.

And often really hard.

Hm… I hate to write sometimes. When I’m racking my brain to come up with a plot or just something interesting to say. Writing is all well and good, but you have to write something worth reading, right? But lots of people have different ideas as to what is worth reading. Heck, I don’t even know why I read what I read sometimes. I guess if it’s something that someone is willing to stare at until all the words run out, then it was worth writing, right?

Do I have something to say? Well, yeah… I mean, maybe not always some amazing truth or some passionate cause or occurrence that I feel really needs to be expressed, that might really resonate with a reader or whatever. But just thinking something is funny or wacky or might make someone laugh, maybe brighten their day — that is worth it, too, right?

Of course, after writing one has to get the story in front of the eyes that will be doing the reading. The internet, blogs like this one and whatnot, has made that much easier. Still not effortless, though. I used to think that being published in print was the end goal. If I write something that some company is willing to put on paper and bind together and make into a book — boom. Success! I’m done!

Not true. Sure, some writers reach a certain point when the publisher or an agency or magical fairies will take care of the getting the work out to the readers for them, but that’s rare. And even then, lots of authors blog and Tweet and set up interviews and appearances and tour on their own to let people know their work is out.

I guess it’s never as simple as just writing until I hit “the end” and then that’s it.

Honestly, this has become the hard part. How do I get the word out effectively without becoming a pest? And might all this time talking, blogging, Tweeting, Friendstering (I kid) about my writing be best spent actually writing new stories?

It’s all so confusing. Hm… and perhaps not worth writing about, really. Oops.

Writing… freaking writing. Crap. I just can’t help it.

Ill-equipped to Read People

As humans, we often seem to think that we know what other people are thinking or feeling, even if they don’t explain it to us. We’ll look at the way someone moves or smiles or which direction their eyes go or which direction their legs are crossed and imagine we know what’s going on in their heads.

I thought this was true, but last night I realized that, nope. Not true. At least for me. I have no ability to “read” others. It’s kind of interesting in this, “wow, I’m kinda dumb” way. I went on a couple of dates with this seemingly swell gal, nothing major, and very chaste (because that’s how I roll, gang!) — but fun. Lots of laughs and easy conversation. Some body language that made me think there was attraction there. I thought for sure there would be a third date.


Not the end of the world by any means, but it’s just confusing. At the end of the date, there were smiles and hugs and mentions of a third date. When I got home, she sent me a text thanking me and a good night wish and emoticon smiley face. All seemed well.

Asked her out again, and after a few hours received a text that “sorry, but this isn’t going to work out.”


I must’ve just misread everything. The fact that this little two date adventure has come to an end isn’t a huge deal in and of itself, but it is a head scratcher and represents perhaps a learning disability I didn’t know I had. I’m by no means a cocky guy, so I don’t just assume the ladies are down. But I was oddly confident in this. Thought for sure more dates were in the future.

Ah, guess my people reading skills are up there with my rollerskating skills. (Nonexistent.)

Ladies: why are you so confusing? Fellas: why are we so dumb?