Today, I spent most of my day with a good friend, just living life, enjoying the time together, and being creative. If I had to describe exactly how I’d want to live the rest of my life, it would be exactly that. Making things for the fun of it, not dwelling too much on whether it’s good or not, but enjoying the process.

Often, when I’m writing, which is the medium of creation I’m most focused on currently, thoughts of incompetence and ridicule attack from every angle. Will this sentence make sense to other people, does this character’s motivation seem stupid or forced, will people say I copied this story from someone else, will people even read this? That is all I think about when I’m typing away. It filters heavily into my story in ways that I believe weigh it down, like with overexplaining or super simple plot storylines that don’t delve far enough into the unique. Everyone must understand it, and everyone must enjoy it as well.

That’s all bullshit, and I know it. Everything has a niche, everything has it’s audience, even if it’s 2 people. My writing doesn’t have to be for the masses when I enjoy it myself, right? Then again, that only works if the stuff you create is good. Otherwise, you might actually end up with only 2 people liking it. I’m stuck between an ideal and reality. I want to pay my bills, but I also want to be free of the outside, as well as the inside, criticism. I wish to have my cake and eat it too, if that’s believable enough.

The things I created with my friend definitely wasn’t great, I wouldn’t even consider it good, but it was fun as hell. It was the most fun I’ve had in a while, rambling quasi-coherently into a mic while youtube beats blared through his headphones. We went on and on about stolen water bottles, gap hoodies, and heaven, loosely linking them together to create a masterpiece that might one day grace the music industry with it’s audacious genius, but probaly not.

I believe that’s how I need to feel about my writing. Experience the nonsense and the gibberish and relish in those rare periods of beautiful clarity that bring forth feelings of awe and bliss. Write and write and write until you have something to chop up and move around. To bring the beauty from the chaos. I think that’s probably what I was brought here to do. Maybe that’s what we’re all here to do.