I don’t have much going for me, but I think I’m capable in this writing business.
Around when I started high school, I knew I could do something with this. As the college preparation cranked up in my senior year, I was taking it to another level with the writing, being borderline addicted to getting my thoughts on to a document.
The only problem: No one is hacking into my drive, therefore, no one is reading my maniacal work. One day, an experience of mine triggered me to propose the idea of getting a piece of mine published in my local newspaper that takes editorial requests. People close to me completely dismissed that ambition. Might be frustrating, but it opened my eyes and made me realize that the snobs who edit these publications wouldn’t touch all the raw human emotion that I put into my writing in their nightmares.
The hell with it. It’s 2017. I can do this in my bedroom.
What you read from me is nothing like the corporate pieces you read in the aforementioned newspapers and online blogs to an extent. In fact, it’s a mistake to compare my work to anything. Let it be its own unique sculpture.
The Empty Theater 