Some people asked me questions duringthe week, to give me fodder for today. The first one I will answer is from my Twitter friend, Darren, who asks, “Why don’t you write for a newspaper or a magazine? You are like, the best writer with whom God ever graced this humble Earth and your writing could probably cure cancer and AIDS and the clap.” (That last part was added by me. See what I did there? I was being a WRITER, ya’ll.)
I do write for any sort of publication for one reason: I do not wish to be a writer by profession. I’m afraid that it will take the joy out of it for me, and this something that I realized when I was at Pitt (for English writing) and seriously feeling suicidal every time I had a paper to write in my creative non-fiction class. Once I started writing it, I was fine and I did very well in the class (I got As on everything but wasn’t really proud of a single thing I turned in). However, the pressure got to me so bad that there was an occasion where I bought a pack of cigarettes and sat in a dark parking lot, chain-smoking and silently begging to be kidnapped/killed during a car-jacking.
If I wrote for a paper, and knowing myself better than anyone, I don’t imagine that insane pressure would ever wane with time. And I feel I would be censored to a degree, and I don’t want to write in any style other than the one I write in now. You know: vulgar and immature.
So, I stick to writing in a blog and creating little stories to pair up with my paintings. And I’m still considering putting together a compilation book of sorts, because that’s something that would be on my own terms.
Aside from that, my dream career is to run my own record label. And when that doesn’t work out, fun house operator.
And that, Darren, is my answer! Hooray.