That sentence shook me to the core. It shocked me out of my work-a-day reverie.
No, I’m not. And why?
Because I work all the time, because I’m tired, because I have no money, because, because, because! But stop for one moment!
What of any of that prevents me from writing? It is not hard to sit at a keyboard, or in an armchair with a Micro 207, and put ink on paper.
And of course this prompts the question: just about what do I write? It is a challenge to get around town in a convenient manner. But it is not impossible. In itself, that is something to write about, even if it never sees the light of day.
But in order for something to be published, it must be worthwhile to some publisher. I need a topic specific enough to warrant either a book or a weekly publishing schedule. I wish I could write stories about people in Toledo… but how do I avoid cloning The Rough Draft Diaries?
Here is a list of what I’m knowledgeable about:
- board games
- Dungeons & Dragons and Exalted
- copy editing
- computer maintenance
These make for some riveting writing topics, they sure do.
When I’m describing something I’m interested in to someone, I almost can’t stop talking. So why do I feel I have nothing to write about?
I wish to be a writer. I should write!
How many times has someone written about not being able to write? Ugh, I feel disgusting for writing this entry.
College is definitely a time of transition. On the same day, you’ll eat lunch at a Michelin-recommended French bistro in SoHo, then eat ramen in your tiny apartment for dinner while watching YouTube excerpts of Last Week Tonight.
I was at work yesterday — I’m a cashier at a café — and someone came up to my register and asked which high school I attend. I’m 23.
I told him I recently graduated from the university in my town. Then he asked me why I wanted to work as a cashier at the café.
Dude, look, I wouldn’t be here if I had anything better.
The dictionary is a mirror
All words correct
The Careless claim their shield thus
And ignore grace
I was reading an infographic introducing Western TV viewers to Japanese anime when I came across a section about space westerns (a la Firefly). “When it comes to anime, there’s Cowboy Bebop – the classic space opera jazz adventure that became many people’s gateway anime.”
Isn’t that strange to think? That anime, that box on my desk, was my gateway anime. I remember when I would sit in a tiny room on the second floor of my parents’ house and watch anime on Saturday nights on the Cartoon Network, staying up late (sorta like I am now), doing homework and drinking bottled Frappuccinos I would treat myself to every weekend. I still sometimes have a craving for one of those when I watch anime late at night. Mocha or coffee flavored? The eternal question.
For a moment, I was transported back to my childhood. Nearly every Saturday I would walk down to the corner store and get a bottled coffee and maybe some candy or something and walk back, put them in the refrigerator and wait until The Boondocks came on. Then I’d go over to our little room at the end of the second-floor hallway and turn on that old CRT television. I’d put my homework on a tray and sit in that room for hours. Eventually I’d get the coffee and the candy and take a break from the work and just watch TV. That was anime night.
Cowboy Bebop, Ghost in the Shell, Kekkaishi, and a few others probably got me through half of my high school’s weekend homework in my four years. I started watching anime around the summer before my junior year, so that kind of makes sense.
Now I’m almost an adult, and I barely have any time for it. At least, I spend more time writing for various blogs and social media accounts and coursework than I spend thinking about anime. I still work conventions, but I almost don’t even pay attention to them anymore. I just do my work and enjoy what I’m really there for: the friends I work with and get to hang out with for one weekend out of every year.
But I’m here now, spending two hours looking up anime and writing about my experience of anime instead of actually watching anime. Well, I guess I’ll get back to that, then. Wish I had a coffee, though.
Picture frames on his desk
show smiling, happy families
he looks at them every day,
smiles, is happy.
He is not alone.
He is not alone.
He is not alone.
He will not die alone.