Because I have no other place where I may "force" other people to ignore, much less read, some of my unbridled, incessant rambling, I will do so here - the fact that I could write up another news post notwithstanding, I do not feel the urge to do so again. Yes, this entire post will be off-topic, however you wish to define on-topic.
Writing has always been something that I started to do during my spare time on the weekends in which no game would satiate my desire to rid myself of bordeom - it happens seldomly, but when it does I can find myself typing for at least an hour straight, whilst listening to some sort of Goa trance, about nothing in particular. Though the topics about which I find myself writing vary in small amounts, the actual thing which I am trying to accomplish by doing so is finding a way to collectivise my scattered thoughts into a small, constrained portion of the web for "all" to see. Yes, I both want people to read it and do not want them to at the same time.
I want people to read because, yes, I have just spent the last hour or two of my life sitting infront of my computer doing nothing but pouring out my thoughts and would just like some confirmation that it had not all been for naught; no, I do not want people to read them because the whole point of my starting to write was for myself and myself alone - whoring the text out to anyone does nothing but contradict the original point with which I started to write, making myself nothing by hyppocritical, I feel. Even posting in this topic can be considered a cry of, "Look at me! Look at me! Look what I am doing!"
But I digress; when I look at the writing forum, the majority of topics I see are ones that deal with the kind in which I most have weakness. All I see are various compilations of people's poetry, stories, and &c. Every time I have tried to write myself a story to see how well I can do it, I find that it is not much better than if a primary school child had written it. Poetry is much the same; for lack of an expansive vocabulary and a much convoluted prose style, I may take about twenty minutes to write a single stanza which, too, feels as if I am only a baby.
One aspect of us, humans, is that we want to be able to do things; we want to be able to accomplish certain goals, yet, when we see the amount of time it will take and how much farther we have to go down the long, winding road of experience, trials, and tribulations, we despair in ourselves and give up. Some people say that they want to lose weight, yet give up after, perhaps, a week or so because they are not getting any results. Some people want to become better artists and stop after a few days because they think their art is horrendous. The people whom you see that do draw fantastically, the people whom you see that have lost weight all had one thing in common - they all worked for ages without giving up.
My writing is more akin to the first type of person. After all, it is only the most common type we have on our planet, and I am far from being out of the ordinary. So when I find dissatisfaction in the aforementioned type of writing, I regress to in what I am "best." That is to say, the only thing I could write "well" for hours at a time would be expository writing on any subject, though it most notably contains more opinions and personal anecdotes than anything else. Yes, the same sort of self-centred writing whose only theme is myself - the very same that is found within this post. I do not think I have tried, recently, to actually write on subjects other than my personal thoughts - I know not about what I should. Maybe it, too, will become like my storytelling i.e, a level almost entirely, but not quite, unlike a primary schooler. Actually, no; that last sentence was a blatant rip off of a well known series, and I should be ashamed for copying it so for lack of originality on my part.
So I might ask the people who read this thread a question. Is there any place in this forum or any topic which you can give to me that is suited for what, I think, I can write? Even though I feel I have still explained it unclearly, I still feel like I should ask.
Though I feel the "zeal" with which I have "interest" at this moment is only a transient feeling which will, inevitably, fade away into obscurity into the back of my mind until that day comes again where I feel nothing but the highest echelons of boredom to the degree that I feel like unleashing upon my "friends" and onto the world terrible, self-absorbed written works through which no one, not even the worst person imaginable, should have to suffer; I can say, with no doubt in my mind, that they would not even suffer its reading at all.
I feel like Kankri.