On Writing

As a bit of an aside from the two stories I’ve posted here recently–I want to make something clear.

First off, I have no illusions about the quality of my writing. I know it’s nothing special, and I’m fine with that. What I’ve posted here are the equivalents of an artist’s doodle, minor things scrawled in margins.

I know I’m not a great writer, and I don’t aspire to be. I’m not looking to be the next Faulkner, or Hemingway, or (god forbid) Shakespeare. Nothing I write will ever be studied in a literature class or change anyone’s life.

If I can be a one-off Stephen King or Chuck Palahniuk, I would be thrilled. If I can publish a single novel–the sort of thing you read in two lazy vacation days, then never think about again–I’ll be very satisfied.

That’s not really so much to hope for, is it?

3 Comments

  1. Have you thought of a pen name yet?

  2. I admire your writing for what its is worth.

  3. Thanks. I appreciate that.

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