Caution: Explicit information here

So why do I feel most comfortable giving my best thoughts to social media platforms and not to this blank white void that I’m actually paying for?

It’s the people. It’s the idea that eventually someone in the vast artist community of Instagram reflects back a exclamatory “Eureka” to some insightful thing I’ve written. I used to think the “hearts” I got were the result of followers’ collective sorrow for me. I am writer continuing to spread my creative wings. As Sean Hayes of Will & Grace says: “I’m findin’ my bliss.” I realize the love flows through because the irreverent things I write actually contain a pound of fact.

There is a film of intense self-awareness that goes into why it’s more cumbersome for me to open up on my WordPress. I fear no one will see the ideas I’ve got. That trepidation competes with the notion that although I’ve been awarded an English degree that should be indicative of my gift, that blessing might still be wasted on sycophantic idiots who could give nothing more than a cough about the story I tell. People forget that every artistic venture takes a lion’s share of bravery. And there are times when I need a chaotic cataclysm to write.

I’ll give you a great example:

Presently, I’m at my writing desk typing with an indie film going on my TV, a song playing on my smartphone, and “Let’s Do It Again” by “The Staples Singers ” belting not five feet from my window. If that’s not chaos, let me add that I’m on my second cup of coffee and I’m holding my bladder just to finish this sentence.

My cousin, a struggling community college student told me: “This is so easy for you.” She was referring to how it seems so simple that I can just write and my writing sounds deep and profound when compared to her struggles with English.

This. And I have to keep reminding her that what I read, watch, and speak has every impact on my ability to craft “WRITING”, that and a good nerdy ass friend. Also, lots of coffee, and tons of alternative music by writers that come from places that are not Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I’m being honest. She actually believes that I just write well because my “BULLSHIT” writing sounds smart. My former classmate, Natalie, who should be graduating soon, said English majors are great bullshit artists. In a very hilarious way, she was saying that word artists (English and Arts Majors) become experts at creating nuance where NONE can be found.

We learn how literary devices are used to basically corrupt, confuse or convince the simple-minded. Nuance is the fancy, rich-dummy term for shade. People fight me for majoring in English but language mavens become “BULLSHIT” detectors. And maybe, that’s why I continue to lose associates. But such is life. This is the life I chose. This is the story I tell. This is the story of directors and films that are less popular.

Hats off to director Stephen Cone. Jon Garcia, and the many filmmakers who have yet to lend their voices to the ongoing discourse that is writing. I hope that after I’ve written this narrative—the academic term for “story”— my writer’s block stays gone. I guess I had not considered that my last Facebook posts and tweets are writing too. My friend says often to many people: He writes everyday.

I guess I do.

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