A Writer’s Doubt

A Writer’s Doubt

By: Antwan Crump

*sits strenuously at keyboard*

“There once was a-“, who really gives a damn, about what once was? I mean seriously. What are you like four? – There once was a dirty little– so and so, who did blah ditty, blah, fuckin’ blah. Come on man! Show some god-damned initiative.

“Late one night on the forgotten tundra-“, really? The tundra was forgotten? Then how in the fuck are you writing about it? Go ahead, stare. Stare blankly into the abyss of your quickly descending writing career. Oh, lemme’ guess, there’s a vampire? Or a zombie? Or a fuckin’ dragon! Go ahead, take the easy way out. You know you want to. This whole art-form is retarded anyway. But please, pray tell about the blood-sucking zombie dragon.

Start again!

“Her eyes were the most blissful shade of-“, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! Is this a -50 Shades of Grey rip-off? Are you seriously falling victim to the docile meanderings of a middle-aged British woman? Is this what it’s become? Have you lost all sense of self as you drift -listless, might I add- in the conformity of the zeitgeist. Why not throw a little Shakespeare in there, to top-off this literary regurgitation? How do you even stand yourself? Sitting in a borrowed space, hoping that the muses will descend upon your tangential misuse of the English word.

Start AGAIN!

“He stood toe to toe with-“, He stood toe to toe with nothing! This line is bad. Your ideas are bad. Your inner cynicism may be the only function of your mind working at full-fucking- stop. You know, our mother told you about this. Yep! She said it. She told you that you were chasing a pipe dream.

You’re too crazy to write. You’re, damn sure, too sane to write anything interesting. Just save us both a bunch of time, and get up! Go look for a real job. I’m sure UPS is hiring. They’re always hiring. If not, then maybe the post office. Yea. That’d be great! Think about it. You, sitting behind a desk passing on the important business of other people. No thought involved. No grammar to stress. No deadlines! Come on man, just do it. Give this up and rejoin the real world. Look how happy everyone is.

Oh, come on man, don’t-

“The realities of damnation had begun to conquer him-“, Oh! was that supposed to be a slight at me? Real clever. Like no one’s ever done that before. Let me guess, you’re Hunter S. Thompson now? Hardy-har-freakin’- har. Here’s a word of fact – from someone who cares- you’re not Hunter S. Thompson. You’re not even Kenan Thompson. If a wizard came and dropped a bag of Thompson’s in your yard, you STILL WOULDN’T HAVE A THOMPSON! That’s why…

Wait. What was my point? Oh, yea! Cut the crap out. Go on Facebook, virtual stalk your ex, rub a sad one out, and then get drunk in a dive bar. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Wouldn’t that be easier? Why do you persist on this meaningless task, while life awaits you out there? It’s ALL, out there. What are you running from? There’s nothing to be achieved here. There’s nowhere for you to hide.

Is this your plan? To just sit here, thinking of fantasies, and fictional people, all day long – hoping that your ghost submissions will somehow be picked up by some mega-publishing corporation. News-fucking-flash! Publishing is dead. Books are dead. People don’t read, and will probably be dead soon too. Why even bother? Think about it.

“His sadness was toppled by resistant ambition-“, are you really trying to motivate yourself right now? Really? After everything that we’ve just discussed? You’re still going strong? Coffee and tippy-tap, on your widdle ol‘ keyboard. How adorable. Really, I don’t understand why you don’t just smash that laptop against a wall and finally be done with it. Hold on. I’ll wait.

“In the midst of his cowardly doubt, he persisted. The thoughts that had tried to consume him, had again been muted. His writing continued.”

So, that’s how you feel, huh? I’m just some crazy voice in your head, running wild, and meaningless? Fine. I don’t need you. I don’t need any of this. I was just trying to help. Look at all the facts! Look at all the failures! Look at what you’re risking in pursuit of a dream! I’m just trying to keep you from going completely bat-shit insane.

Have you even thought of your mortgage? Have you thought of your phone bill, student loans, auto-payments, friends? All of these things are still going on while you sit here galavanting with your imagination. There are five-year-olds doing what you’re doing right now. Do you know the difference? No? Well, I’ll tell you. They’ve got NOTHING to lose. How are you going to type when you’re homeless?

“The fearful admonishing only served to strengthen the writer’s resolve to continue.”

Me! Fearful? I’m not fearful. You’re fearful! Look at you just –type, type, type. How are you not exhausted yet? What is it that you’re expecting? Go ahead, post this rant on some site for all to see. Are you really going to tattle-tale on your own insecurities? They’re going to think that you’re a psychopath. They’re gonna’ call you crazy. They’re gonna’ unfollow you, and leave you with nothing -as they share stories of your vast authorial incompetence.

“The writer, silenced his doubt by stating aloud – ‘And isn’t that what you want?‘” ……..

Don’t you try to meta me into submission, I’m just, – “His doubt stumbled its’ words, as every moment of predicted silence, made its’ irreverence, irrelevant”.

That’s not even fair. You can’t do that! Even if I’m quiet, that doesn’t make me wrong. I’m just… I’m just, “Defeated, the doubt subsided”.

-Okay. You win. Tell me more about the blood-sucking zombie dragon, or whatever.

“With his doubt now silenced, the writer continued to indulge in his craft -undisturbed. He smiled, as he completed his most recent endeavor. It may be his best work yet”.

The End.

For Chuck

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