I was born to create. the nagging voice of a great writer has driven me from swaddling garb to plaid skinny jeans to remaining in my pajamas well past noon. i’ve never found the faith in myself to allow my words publishing power. In a world where publishing is dying from the knife wounds of new media I feel that I missed the boat. For many years prior to this rambling I tried to blame my parents for my tardiness to this party. My absence from bookshelves. For the empty space in the heads and hearts of my impossible fandom that I should be there to fill. Mom and Dad supported that I write, but always tried to steer me to a “real job” even before I understood what the fuck a job was. Dad convinced me before I was in the third grade that success in writing was equal to popularity and fame, and this would lead him to say things like “being a writer is like being a musician, there is only room for four Beatles. Everyone else is starving and struggling.” or the classic, that 26 years into my life i find myself repeating, “that ain’t gonna feed the bulldog.” Mom was better at nurturing writing as a hobby, but still in my memory she always seemed to try and direct me towards becoming a lawyer or some other high profile profession that would take ten to twelve extra years of school. Still, I wanted to write. It wasn’t until, in high school, when i decided i would rather write than do school work or homework or almost anything that the both of them were outraged with my audacity. I was supposed to be the first in our family to go to college. I was to set the precedence for my younger brother. I wasn’t going to make it into a good school by NOT doing homework. Being the type of doof i am my teenage rebellion consisted of writing still as of yet unfinished manuscripts, weird angsty poetry, and comic books while barely maintaining, to graduation, a 2.6 GPA. that oughta show them. showed me. if i wasn’t going to be the person they had “raised” me to be then they were pretty much done with me, and this is when the accusations of drugs started flying in anger filled tones across the dinner table. Of course, I did eventually start doing drugs, but what else is a seventeen year old borderline bipolar “failure” going to do?
I will never trust a person that didn’t lose at least six years of their life to a heavy drug addiction. So, from 2006 till around 2011 or 2012. I am not quite sure. i’m still working the kinks out. but i certainly lost anywhere from six to eight years in between high school and this day. I still feel like the world has moved on without me. I have tried to go back to school three times. It always feels like i am wasting life, again. i have no extra minutes to spare. When you spent over a 5th of the life you’ve lived so far filling your head with as many different flavors of inebriate as one can on the poor side of the suburbs on the north of the north side of houston you really start to take into perspective the scale of what you are doing and why. So going to a community college and being told on a daily basis how great I am at writing and learning nothing. ANd not in the sense that “I already know this, and i am not learning anything” (even though that is true) but learning nothing in the sense of “you are failing me as a teacher. and as a human being.” Every time i have tried to go back to school i have ended in the same place. Depressed. Exhausted. And skipping class to dive into my first addiction escapism through video games. All because if i am going to waste my time i might as well waste my time and enjoy myself. It is that voice.
that nagging voice that drives men and women with creative passion to do extraordinary things. or drives me to near psychotic breakdowns because i have no outlet anymore. because why waste my time not being taught anything when i can be writing. producing. writing. creating. being myself. in the age of new media the creatives much each forge a path for themselves we must all march into the unmarked woods with a map written in martian runes. we know many have done the same. and a metric fuck ton of them were never heard from again. Not only are the creatives of new media age to march headlong into the unknown. we are doing so with some notion that if we just forge a clear enough path we will gain followers. how do you build a niche?
how do i convince my creative but weary friends to follow me into the unknown to build a thing for themselves with me.