Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Greetings my loving members of the pulpit! Take your seats right over there in this, your coveted spot! Here ye’ Beer ye’ this and that and (I really don’t care enough about this bit to keep trying).

In any case, what’s up?

I’ve got some good news and some bad news (and probably some that’s in between and may spill its way between the chaffing thighs of the other two…)

*pauses*

*watches you gag a little*

“CHAFFING THIGHS!!!!! THAT’S RIGHT….IT GETS A LOT WORSE THAN THAT SO RIP THAT GENITAL STITCH OUT NOW!!!!!”

…Okay, fair warning, I’m still having a fit of writer’s block and I’ve run out of hazelnut creamer. So, at this point, my house is the Hunger Games–except that I’m the only tribute (but somehow there are still opposing sides) #WelcomeToMyBrain #WriterOnFire.

Anywho, the good news is that my block has evolved past the point of stagnancy (which is where mental blocks are made and procreate (though sometimes they just diddle each other for fun)) and is now in the phase where my mind is telling me what it actually wants to do–which, yes–is a good thing. But, also “AHHHHH!!!!!!!”

So needless to say, some compromise must be met.

For those of you who don’t know, being a writer might quite possibly be the quickest way to the grave (but also immortality so #Meh). This is never due to the job itself, but rather the amount of pressure that the creator either must/chooses to/or submits to. At the end of the day, we’re artists and we want to leave a footprint (no matter how small) so we’ll do whatever it takes.

On the road to that goal, some writers take day jobs, some do freelance work, (others scour the globe searching for both Tupac and Bigfoot while chronicling their search through the Amazon #TuFoot?), etc.  But, we do things to keep the lights on. I happen to fall into that center category. (i.e. lucky enough to write for a living and not lucky enough to only write what I want).

That, of course, means that about half of the time I write what I’d like and the other half I’m tossing letters at a clients’ post horror Hindenburg while it descends into (How do I put this gently?) A FLAMING SHI!TPILE OF HACKNEYED WACKADOO LEFT-BRAINED …

*coughs lightly*

…art.

My point is that it comes with the job. You write some great stuff if you’re lucky and other times, you’re running face first into a spiked-wall. That’s not to say that you can’t make lemonade from lemons, but its just the facts for a guy trying to keep his lights on and his appetite satiated.

So what do we do when our mind decides that it’s time to pack it in and live high on its own self-interested fumes?

(Huff the fumes?)

No, we persist. We persist because the reality is that we are aiming for something greater than today, yesterday, and tomorrow. We power through the trenches of human waste and hope that on the other end is a shower.

We take that shower and push on through that utopia where there may be A.) A road or B.) Another tunnel of sh!t. It doesn’t matter what’s there, because (if you do this thing right) we will emerge from that road as well and look for the following route to infinity.

Why you ask? (You didn’t)–because it’s our job. Because it’s our passion. Because if we don’t travel through the sh!t-tubes of our choosing–we’ll be rummaging through someone else’s by default. We struggle because the struggle is needed. There is no greater reason or cause than that.

So, as you watch me pull my hair out (for however long this lasts), just be aware that I do so with love in my heart and ambition in my spirit. It’s the only way that this can be survived and the alternatives are various pools of crap that lead someone else closer to their goal. That’s all fine and dandy, but that’s not what I’m here for. That’s not what I suffer for.

I don’t fight for them.

Don’t fight for them.

I fight for me…I fight for us.

*As long as someone’s holding the torch, the way is lighted for others to take their place alongside them in the dark.*

Hold your torch. Hold it tightly and keep it lit.

Block or not, we’ve got a job to do.

At least, I do.

Until Next Time,

–Antwan Crump.

 

Follow me on Twitter, won’t you?: @I_AM_ANTWAN

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Follow me on Twitter, won’t you?: @I_AM_ANTWAN

Follow @I_AM_ANTWAN