If Meh was a country, I’d have been born there

Many of you have hinted (and by you, I mean me) that I should write about something other than myself. Since I spend 90% of my time with myself, and the rule is write what you know, it seems only natural that I should continue down that path. Plus, once I’m all famous and reclusive, I won’t have to waste time going back to explain how it all came to be; I can just link to the awesome and be done with it.

The thing is, this is all still relatively new to me, this whole writing for someone other than myself deal. In the past, I wrote online in places that were designed to ensure the maximum amount of sympathy for my perceived misery in a realistically normal life. Did I hope people read what screamed from my soul to the page? Of course. Was I trying to entertain? If by ‘entertain’ you mean garner unreasonable sympathy and attention, then yes. However, there’s only so much ‘woe-is-me’ writing that anyone but a caked-up goth teen can take before they want to slap the emo out of you.

Prior to the rise of social media sites and micro-blogging, but after my extended stay at hotel Moodydude, I let my writing taper off into poorly written “poetry” and one-liners outlining horrible story ideas. I was so disgusted with myself that I talked myself out of writing entirely. It was easier than…

You know what, I’m not feeling this one; seems a bit pretentious to share what seems to be advice on writing when I’m still honing my own story-telling skills. This isn’t the happy ending to that coma-inducing stuff up there ^; it’s the uncertain, yet exciting, beginning. If you aren’t feeling the usual mojo on this one, it’s probably because I’m forcing it. You deserve better, and I’ll give it to you. Just not right now.

Hop on over to my friend Katie’s blog and read her quirky-fun take on travel, public pooping and face-feeding for a bit. I’ll be here when you get back, I promise; maybe with all-new tales of misadventure and bodily injury, like the time I dove head-first off of a cliff to avoid imaginary bullets from a plastic gun. See? You know you’ll be back on the off chance I share that gem.

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3 Comments on “If Meh was a country, I’d have been born there”

  1. Katie Says:

    Okay, okay you don’t have to link to me anymore – I’ll share my mojo. 🙂 (Just keep writing through any blocks. You are the more talented writer BY FAR – and already your blogging consistency is impressive. Keep doing what you’re doing!)

    • renpiti Says:

      Thanks for the encouragement Katie, but I’ll link who I want, when I want…like a link-whore. 😉
      And don’t sell yourself short by claiming I’m a more talented writer. Your writing kick-started my own, so that should tell you something, my friend.

  2. Dad Says:

    You know, Kev, if you’d been born in MY era (that’s NOT the 1800s, smartass), you would have heard the coach say,”OK, get down on one knee behind the bench so your mom won’t see the bleeding, then slap some tape on it and get back into the game.” I’m not sure what that means, but, hey, I always liked the Moody Blues (and, no, not the “Nights in White Satin” number; the other, angry one). Anyway, Katie’s got the right idea.


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