I’m Your Writer, I Am Able

“You must not come lightly to the blank page.”
– Stephen King, On Writing
I have strong urges, when reading something intended to be inspirational, to highlight or underline or make notes in margins.  On Writing by Stephen King is one of those books that I want to destroy with pen marks, highlighters, and torn pages from folding the corners too much.  That’s how you destroy a book:  use it until it turns to dust.  Burning is a quick, ignorant way to kill literature; those who think and act upon that urge should suffer the same punishment–ye shall be burned at the stake!
The pursuit of writing, creativity, and everything else–this is what I want to pursue.  It’s not like I have been in denial of it, but the slow progression is associated with character/personal development and confidence.  I don’t know where this confidence has come from, but I know it can be related to a series of events in 2012, which was a year of heartbreak and self-imposed personal destruction.  There were tears and restless nights, which have seemed to trickle over into this new year.  It’s okay though, the experiences have made me a better person and stronger-willed.
The Syracuse Chapter of the Culinary Institute declared Chef Chance Bear Chef of 2012.  It’s a fantastic honor.  I have enjoyed his cooking when he was at Francesca’s, and I have continued to enjoy his dishes at Parisa.  I recently wrote a review for Project Rock City, which has been my last update in late December.  It’s been a while for my contribution to the website, and I feel terrible for it; however, I am trying to write a story about my family in the Filo magazine.  It takes research and familial storytelling to get this accomplished, and I will be back in action come February.
Yes, that will mean I have not contributed in a month.  I have a short story in development as well as a novel, itching to get tampered with.  Within the past 24 hours, I emailed a sample chapter to a fellow Twitter friend, who took the courtesy to give me an honest opinion.
No one, aside my boss, has seen anything from this work-in-progress.  Showing this raw sample to someone is a big step. 
I needed an outside opinion, especially from someone who (a) is not an editor and (b) doesn’t know me well enough to be sympathetic to the friendship.  I got some excellent feedback, so it will be great to look at it from a new perspective; I have to in order to make things better.
Less is more–I must install this in my head.
However, I digress.  Chef Bear and other staff of Parisa, complimented my piece.  Although it was simple, it did the restaurant and the chef’s work justice.  I was honest, because I wouldn’t write about something I didn’t enjoy.  I am not going to be a full-fledged food critic; giving a bad review is not in my best interest.  I don’t want to write negatively; if I ate something bad, I probably wouldn’t care to eat there again.  Credit must be given when it is deserved.
Chef Bear shook my hand and said a thank you with a smile. 
After speaking with my mom about the enlightened moment, she suggested that I create business cards to hand out.  If someone wants a freelancer, a reviewer, a ghostwriter, or anything they could check out my work and (hopefully) take me on.  Right now, pay isn’t a huge deal.  I want a symbiotic relationship, helping someone but getting my name out there at the same time.  However, if someone wants to pay me, I am not going to say no, but I will accept the offer with gratitude.
The card thing is a great idea, especially considering the infusion of my name into the big world that we all live in.  I went online tonight, came up with a quick and cheesy design, and ordered away.
I’ll have my name and contact information (phone and email), my blog web addresses, and my title was written as {Writer} below my name.  The description is written as:  “Blogger, Dreamer, Reviewer, Observer, Wanderer.”  If the people want access to Facebook and my Twitter handle, both are listed on the blogs, or in my Google profile.  I know that description sounds like a bunch of bullshit.  It’s true, but it is bullshit.  Yes, I do sound like a blowhard, but bullshit sells.  I want people to pick up the card and say:  What the hell…
I want the last letters of hell to fade out for effect, signifying curiosity.
Having people inquire as to “What the hell is going on?” or “Who the hell is this?” is a good thing.  I write simple enough, and I write coherently.  I don’t need to prove vocabulary, because I want people to enjoy what I write without using big, flowery words.  Do you really want to spend most of your time fanning through a thesaurus?
No.  I didn’t think so.
If I want to succeed and to prove to others and prove to myself, keeping busy is the way to go.  Continuing writing is what has to be done, but this damn card concept has plagued my mind since yesterday evening.  It’s another step.  In one week, I will have 250 pieces of paper that kids can put in their spokes to make fantastic clicking sounds (forbid I lose the box or it is delivered elsewhere). 
Hey, at least they would be utilized to some degree, not the purpose I was hoping for, but the card would be bound to get lost and spread across the area like pollen.  Instead of growing flowers, interest and intrigue would be coughed and sneezed into the air.
Hey, people could be allergic to this stuff.  People, just take care of yourselves. 
It’s great to be on a positive, creative path.  I feel alive to the point where falling to my knees and shooting my arms up to the sky while I yell for no reason (Shawshank?  Redemption?) in the rain or in a field or in a subway station seems appropriate.  I just want to breath in fresh air and let it out in a big, fat burst of raw sound or energy.
Welcome to living life.  I want to take you all with me, especially friends and family who I have known since birth, since the beginning of my West Genesee experiences, my first job at the M.O.S.T., and then Oneonta State and every segment after.
Pushing myself, acting upon what I have to do, it goes without saying to give myself kudos.  However, my family and friends and readers (who many of you I do not know) are the support system.  Without that, a strong group of adjective-filled individuals, no one is anyone.
I can’t kick myself in the ass to keep me writing.  If I stop or get off track, a swift and hearty kick will do just fine.
I’m not talking about a kick in the literal sense.  Although, I wouldn’t put it past some of you to do so…

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