I’m sitting in front of my desk, telling myself to write a good story. We just made a publication platform, and wouldn’t it be nice to start with a beautiful piece? It’s funny how once I decide to write a finished train of thought, my mind totally blanks. I can’t remember any of the writing ideas that were bursting a mere moments ago.
We lose grasp of our ideas every so often. I created the habit of writing on my phone notes, but I don’t take a look back at them. Even if I do, I don’t remember half the process of my thoughts about it. If you want to write, you gotta grit. Everyone has their own methodology. You lie, combine, steal, randomize, patience it out, go take a shower, I don’t know. Whatever to get writing crap. If you’re a good writer perhaps you grit longer. Draft it more than once. Unlike me, who just don’t have the humility to wait. All I’ve learned throughout my own academic life is: go do it now.
I’m a designer by trade. A digital designer of the 21st century, so I don’t like to play the waiting game. I learned hotkeys for my tools, so I don’t sketch on paper. Drawing with pencil makes me think too much. I re-iterate on the digital canvas. And then I archive useless files. Over and over again. The ancient masters of the 20th century had thought to their craft. Vision first, craft later. Contrary to the elite way, I seek my vision through my repetitive craft. Sometimes a miss, other times a miss, most times a miss. It’s just more of a factory of stuff rather than a creation of a tailored, pristine idea. So yea, I grit. To endlessness. And I enjoy it. Not half-baked ideas, just plain rubbish. A load of trash files getting stacked as a digital mountain, no not a mountain, a mountain takes a shape. My files are formless, in the lost & found, like forgotten childhood dreams, in an abyss of 2000s selfies, wandering in a Youtuber’s dead channel, in eternal purgatory of the Wayback Machine. Yea, I grit. Writing nonsense as it makes me feel like I’m achieving.
It’s funny to write. Even knowing I’m not going anywhere, writing is pure joy. Even more so in why I respect writers. For TVs, Film, Newspapers, Novels, Radio Shows, D&D game masters, stand-ups and whatever old media crap I missed, I purposely tried to omit any online amateur content (Like this writing or clickbaity crap). The geniuses behind the writing that have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Or a meaning. Or a critique. Or a series. I don’t know, I’m just writing not researching. Clearly you know which category of writing I’m talking about: finished stories. That is why I also hate writing. I can’t write with quality. Like I said I’m a 21st-century brat with no patience. Do you think only the Millenials and the next generation called Gen-Z don’t have patience? Even the 90s kids are spoiled. I’ll say the 80s teens are spoiled with no patience. Heck the last 100 years, our mainstream music is not a 1-hour session of music anymore, I mean who does that? But I don’t know, I’m not researching, I’m gritting.
A finished story takes into consideration many things that require patience. It also takes into consideration building a story with the readers who’ll approach it. It’s not about itself. It’s about others. This writing is not a finished story mainly because it’s about me, me, me. Most online content doesn’t satisfy our appetite because it’s about me, me, me. Even the sophisticated craft known as writing can be dull if it’s not about the reader. I honestly think it’s funny to write not because writing is a mysterious craft humans use to create worlds and what not. It’s funny because if you want to write good charming f*cking great writing. You gotta not write about yourself. But who starts writing like that?
I got many more to say, but I’ll stop. With that, I’ll end the first beautiful piece to start this self-satisfying publication platform called Ben Muses. Where we probably will only talk about me, me, me. And no my name ain’t Ben.
Yes, this writing is the first draft. 30-minutes of hustling writing to make it mean anything. But probably confusing.