astitchaway's Diaryland Diary


writers anonymous

I've always been told I should sell my writing, that I was really good, and should be marketing that into a career, and that kind of thing. But I have, and will, maintain that I don't write for other people. I never have. I write for myself, and most of the time, only my eyes ever see that writing. I don't take criticism, or compliments about my writing, unless they're from myself. I am both my own worst critic, and biggest fan, Well, that second one isn't true, because there is someone else who likes my writing even more than I do, enough to even claim it as his own. But, I forgive him. It seems fair for him to use my words when all my words are about him anyway. That will never change. He's my muse. He always was, and, he always will be. This brain will reminisce about those late star-staring nights and bitter Chicago winters. He'll bring back feelings of joy, and unimaginable rage. He always has. He always will.

But one of the biggest reasons my writing remains unseen is something I read once. That every thing written in a fictional sense is inspired by a real life event. Be it something that happened to the author or something in a dream, or something in a movie once long ago. The subconscious is truly the writer in all of us, it's not about what we think, it's about what we don't. That being said, the source of all my writing falls back to a fantasy world I've submerged myself into as an escape from reality. There's no problems with doing that, my therapist even said so. Whatever inspires you, she said. The problem is that no one in reality truly comprehends the extend of that fantasy world. Worse, they try to change it with trivial facts like truth.

A writer needs freedom. The ability to think (or not) what they wish to think. A writer needs to freedom to live how they want to live, and love who they want to love. Even if sometimes those loves are fictional characters, and those lives are written in ink or type. A writer needs the kind of freedom that doesn't exist under the bright light of judgmental eyes. Hence pseudonyms The freedom of infamy, while spreading the words of the heart. That's real freedom - an scape from reality.

In reality, the person behind the pen is usually sad, and desperate for an escape from that sadness. The best writers are the most tormented people in the world. You would cross the street to avoid these people for fear they may just snap as you cross their paths. I'm not one of those people. Day to day on the street and at work, I seem as normal as anyone else. But behind closed doors I surround myself with images of death, because I find dying so beautiful. I obsess over famous faces, and dream of futures that can't exist. I exercise career ideas until I'm exhausted about thinking. I have it all figured out, until reality creeps in through my bedroom door, and the world I love so much dissipates into nothing but smokey figures. So, I drink, a lot. To forget, to remember, to feel.

Hi, my name is Amanda, and I'm a writer.

10:04 a.m. - 2014-09-03


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