Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

more confused than i was before

I’ve been trying my hand at writing things that are slightly more objective than my M.O, and quite frankly, it’s hard for me to express a cohesive and coherent thought in less than five hundred words. Here’s an attempt.

I’ve been trying my hand at ditching this verbose, overly long style of writing into something that could be read as clear and concise, without any of that overtly sentimental or confusing use of commas and clauses. As you can tell by that previous sentence, it’s kind of tough. It doesn’t help when six eights of the time I write sentences that, when transcribed onto paper with my chickenscratch handwriting, take up at least three lines of college ruled paper. See, I haven’t quite mastered the whole short and edgy few-line paragraph thing, or the whole concise, technical, and not at all conversational, or dare I say bloggy, writing style that’s prevalent in what a lot of people are looking for in essays, or more specific to myself, articles about music. It’s hard to analyze your own writing style when you really have no criteria to look for. It’s also hard to take in constructive crticism when you’re mostly taking one train of thought as far as the second-to-last station before jumping onto another train. It also doesn’t mean that it isn’t necessary. So here’s to hoping the following words offer some sort of lucidity.

I think I wrote it here, or maybe said it to someone in an otherwise forgotten conversation, but I have a quote, and it goes a little something along the lines of, “The only things you need to be a writer are something to write with and a message that you can’t bear saying directly.” It’s the whole deal behind the creative side of wordsmithery, using images and syntax and all of that other literary bullshit (bullshit in the sense that it describes something that really doesn’t need to be described) in order to convey a message not through explicit statements but through the interpretation of how everything’s arranged. It’s why six eighths of the time I write seemingly nonsensical fiction; I feel there could be some meaning derived from the conversations and actions of the characters in seemingly mundane situations, but in the end it most likely is banal anyways. It’s also why I hear arguments surrounding what Band X really meant in Song Y; perhaps Song Y’s a seemingly dark tale wrapped in a bright musical sheath, or maybe Song Y is some bright anthem for optimism.

This train of thought begs the question of whether or not anything’s really “planned” when it’s written. I really hope that other writers (here I am, with the gall of implying myself to be a writer) don’t go about constructing a sentence by listing the order of the types of words before finding them.  Someone whose inner monologue when in front of a keyboard or notebook goes along the lines of, “Maybe an interjection, then maybe a prepositional phrase…” is either freakishly uncreative or a robot. But who am I to judge, I can barely keep on my own points.

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