We’re all adults here (or very mature minors, I’m sure), so I’m going to explain my philosophy on writing with the help of non-hostile profanity.
So let’s get this shit-carnival on the fuck-road, vaginas.
What the fuck is fiction, and why should we care? Part of the answer lies in the second clause. I mean, I could say something really standard, like: when you strip away technique, plot, and language, you’ve got to have something real there. Whatever that means. I’m not sure that this is incredibly important to think about. I’d rather just fucking write something and figure out if it requires a category later.
No format is perfect for what I want to do. I can only get pieces to work, but not the whole thing. I don’t mind struggling a little bit, because I figure it’s worth my time, even if it turns out like cold shit-spaghetti on lightly buttered toast.
Okay, let’s talk about fucking success. Writers don’t like to talk about success for some reason, especially the kind of a commercial nature. If you like what you write, and you can make money, what’s the fucking problem? Also, it’s okay to write things you like. And fuck yeah, that’s selfish. But then again, pouring everything you’ve got into something without caring if it’s a total waste of time is pretty admirable in my opinion. You should be knighted for shit like that.
That reminds me — don’t be so fucking humble. Just be honest.
I think it’s good to have something at stake—something important, like food and shelter, or a story not turning out the way you thought because you took it in a different direction at the last second. It makes you learn to believe that things will work out, even if they don’t all the time.
I wasted a lot of time thinking serious stories could only be one way. Then I realized, my sweet bitches, that they don’t have to be.
Fucking have faith – in the important things. Like yourself, and humanity and shit. Don’t be such a little bitch. Jesus.