“Yeah, I do think I am probably better than most other writers out there right now but I still need to prove it. And by proving it, I simply mean someone, anyone – a decent person certainly helps – shining the spotlight on just enough of my stories to let people really see it, feel it… taste it, goddamnit. I need to be confident because no-one else is going to be confident for me. I even probably might need to appear a little quirky in this endeavour all in all, it’s fairly left-of, really. Truth be told, I’d almost sell my proverbial granny for a real shot at this whole thing.”
“Writing is a lot like a drug in many a sense – it can feel oh so damn addictive, the whole lot if it. And then, when you’re beginning to feel like you might just be on the highest of highs known to any man BAAAM!!… You’re left with this utterly unquenchable and typically insatiable need for more of the same but you just cannot seem to unearth the same damn stuff that you had before. And you go right back with your tail dripping between your legs, knowing full well you may be left searching for hours, days, most probably weeks even to get that perfect hit again. When you do get the hit – a reader’s approval in my instance anyhow – it feels like it’s all coming together before, once more, it’s just you and that page – nose pressed a thousand ways downwards. You seem to have lost that feeling, and these kinds of people – the attention-givers, trust me, in the beginning at least surely won’t be there all of the time to prop you up and cheer you on. I can wholly see how a movie-star or a famous athlete gains a serious ego. Writers find precious pockets of adulation to seek out while the aforementioned carry a clown’s pocket on them. Why? Because popularity lets everyone fall in. Reading isn’t entirely popular, never gets to be. Sure there are avidly devoted readers out there but it needs to be a domino-effect: a telling persona brings with it people, brings with it word of mouth, brings with it your bigger clown’s pocket altogether. Sure the style of writing matters but there’s far more stuff than just that going on here. See, most people just go along for the ride. Simple as.”
“Writing can be a shitstorm, just minus the storm you need and plus a whole lot of shit. You do need both, perhaps. I don’t know, I mean it’s great and all that but it can also be taxing, taxing because a lot of the time you’re just not up to it, you know? It’s just that… when people don’t seem to be reading you’re not really breathing, if you get me. Approval is paramount to me, something that has to come. Time, they say; that time will take care of that little golden nugget, but I don’t know. Trying to find these people, the right people – the ones who love to analyse and lap up your every next line – can be so fucking hard, even if you are a good, good writer. I am starting to see what they mean when they tell you that, first and foremost, you need to love your own writing. See, I never thought about that, never even took the precious time to see why I write the way I write; it’s silly really how long it took me. I just want to turn a dream into a reality, and then there is the not even knowing if it will actually be what I want the most. I know that I need to finally be able to twist and turn any given sentence however I see fit, and the only way to do that is to learn how to properly decipher between where certain punctuaton might go and where not. Who really cares what other people think when they see it on the page so long as it appears pretty to you. Make a line, break a line, heck, do whatever feels best to you and no-one else. This, for me, is like a masterclass only I’m no master which lets me see that maybe those who can’t do, in fact, teach. Sorry if that’s mean but it’s just how I think right about now. So, really I see that I need to do a hell of a lot, to learn how to master my craft as best I can; and how on earth do I do that? By getting damn busy, I suppose. ‘Til my fingers fall off and my eyes start to pop out.
“Truthfully, I don’t really know if I have what it takes. You probably need a whole lot more drive than I am ever able to muster. I smoke, I lay about the house unemployed, I don’t seem to get to see how much this always meant to me. I’m masturbating when I should really be writing, lets call it madsterbating then. I’m dreaming all of these things, these particular grandiose outcomes when I should definitely be writing more. Yeah, I’m a lazy motherfucker for sure and that, above all else, has to stop. Has to be rectified. Stop looking for the prize when you haven’t even entered the race or at least tied your goddamn shoelaces properly!! I’m a little worried right now but I’m sure I’ll get it sorted. I need more stuff happening – more happy stuff in my life – for my focus on writing to prove more enjoyable. There has to be a fucking reason I write a lot about dead bodies and sad situations, although I do think that this kind of stuff does seem to resonate with people – readers – more. They absolutely lap up the gore, they do. If anyone knows of a way of making utterly romantic utterly entertaining then, please, let me know. I’d be damn grateful to not have to throw in a dead body, a depressed somebody, or a naked lady here and there for once. Although, if I can finally manage to see what I write like certain others seem to do then I’d like that to happen exactly when I am writing about a beautiful naked woman. What sane man wouldn’t!? Heck, even Charkes Manson would want that. See what I mean by gore!
“Writing isn’t supposed to be easy, if it was everyone would be doing what they always seem to say they are going to do. I.e. “I think there is a rip-roaring book in me. When I write it it’ll be just great!!” Bullshit!! There is no book in these people, not unless they really really, really feel it. Many a time I don’t even get to feel it. Sure writers can be made but for the most part they are born into this world, for good or for bad I just don’t know. And what does it take for more people – a wider mainstream amount. perhaps – to take to your particular writing? Hard work. Hard work and balls, ten thousand of them. Discipline helps and you also might just need to accept that you have maybe been handed some kind of an outrageous gift in the first place. That’s not ego or even cocky, it’s absolutely paramount when it comes down to your own ability to continue to hone your particular take on an age-old craft. It isn’t supposed to always flow perfectly, I mean, how in the name of Christ can you ever cause seven-billion people – give or take the odd penniless and distracted person – to like your particular writing? Yeah, you might just need to be particular in this instance.”