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A pleasure. More a gift, the truth be told.
Criticism lies everywhere, waiting to pounce. A vile energy, locked up in a pen-shaped timebomb that cannot be disarmed. It's target? One persons heart, life, imagination and passion inked out. A suicide mission, perhaps; but not an intentional one. It's cause, more a lack of intel. But most times an enemy shouldn't be present. No Tango's, no red blips. After all, there was no targetting reticle, let alone one that turned red.
Let this not discourage you.
Why write? Escapism? Hopefully not. This world is inescapable. Temporarily, maybe. But only through a daydream. Expression is my bet. Humans were never intended for solitude. Being alone isn't what we do well. You may enjoy being alone, but you wouldn't while drifting alone in the sea, walking slone at night in the middle of the woods, or fighting in a war.
I'm almost excited about the thought of a street war. Portrayed in games, and movies, they're fun. Lots of adrenaline. Positions and confrontations scripted to request. In reality I'd hate it. I fear for the lives of my family. With no reason, I might add. A real war would scare me. I have faith, in God, although a somewhat lacking one. I'd sooner die before any one of them.
It's amazing how a story can move you. What someone else has penned down, physically you could type. But the fire and imagination in their mind, you cannot copy.
Somewhere, inside of you, may lie a story. One of heroics, love, ire, jealousy, intelligence, power, sacrifice. Try your hand. Why not?
Write.
Criticism lies everywhere, waiting to pounce. A vile energy, locked up in a pen-shaped timebomb that cannot be disarmed. It's target? One persons heart, life, imagination and passion inked out. A suicide mission, perhaps; but not an intentional one. It's cause, more a lack of intel. But most times an enemy shouldn't be present. No Tango's, no red blips. After all, there was no targetting reticle, let alone one that turned red.
Let this not discourage you.
Why write? Escapism? Hopefully not. This world is inescapable. Temporarily, maybe. But only through a daydream. Expression is my bet. Humans were never intended for solitude. Being alone isn't what we do well. You may enjoy being alone, but you wouldn't while drifting alone in the sea, walking slone at night in the middle of the woods, or fighting in a war.
I'm almost excited about the thought of a street war. Portrayed in games, and movies, they're fun. Lots of adrenaline. Positions and confrontations scripted to request. In reality I'd hate it. I fear for the lives of my family. With no reason, I might add. A real war would scare me. I have faith, in God, although a somewhat lacking one. I'd sooner die before any one of them.
It's amazing how a story can move you. What someone else has penned down, physically you could type. But the fire and imagination in their mind, you cannot copy.
Somewhere, inside of you, may lie a story. One of heroics, love, ire, jealousy, intelligence, power, sacrifice. Try your hand. Why not?
Write.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Unless you're zzzz, then please don't.
ahahhahaha
> Unless you're zzzz, then please don't.
ahahhahaha
Unless you're zzzz, then please don't.
A pleasure. More a gift, the truth be told.
Criticism lies everywhere, waiting to pounce. A vile energy, locked up in a pen-shaped timebomb that cannot be disarmed. It's target? One persons heart, life, imagination and passion inked out. A suicide mission, perhaps; but not an intentional one. It's cause, more a lack of intel. But most times an enemy shouldn't be present. No Tango's, no red blips. After all, there was no targetting reticle, let alone one that turned red.
Let this not discourage you.
Why write? Escapism? Hopefully not. This world is inescapable. Temporarily, maybe. But only through a daydream. Expression is my bet. Humans were never intended for solitude. Being alone isn't what we do well. You may enjoy being alone, but you wouldn't while drifting alone in the sea, walking slone at night in the middle of the woods, or fighting in a war.
I'm almost excited about the thought of a street war. Portrayed in games, and movies, they're fun. Lots of adrenaline. Positions and confrontations scripted to request. In reality I'd hate it. I fear for the lives of my family. With no reason, I might add. A real war would scare me. I have faith, in God, although a somewhat lacking one. I'd sooner die before any one of them.
It's amazing how a story can move you. What someone else has penned down, physically you could type. But the fire and imagination in their mind, you cannot copy.
Somewhere, inside of you, may lie a story. One of heroics, love, ire, jealousy, intelligence, power, sacrifice. Try your hand. Why not?
Write.
Criticism lies everywhere, waiting to pounce. A vile energy, locked up in a pen-shaped timebomb that cannot be disarmed. It's target? One persons heart, life, imagination and passion inked out. A suicide mission, perhaps; but not an intentional one. It's cause, more a lack of intel. But most times an enemy shouldn't be present. No Tango's, no red blips. After all, there was no targetting reticle, let alone one that turned red.
Let this not discourage you.
Why write? Escapism? Hopefully not. This world is inescapable. Temporarily, maybe. But only through a daydream. Expression is my bet. Humans were never intended for solitude. Being alone isn't what we do well. You may enjoy being alone, but you wouldn't while drifting alone in the sea, walking slone at night in the middle of the woods, or fighting in a war.
I'm almost excited about the thought of a street war. Portrayed in games, and movies, they're fun. Lots of adrenaline. Positions and confrontations scripted to request. In reality I'd hate it. I fear for the lives of my family. With no reason, I might add. A real war would scare me. I have faith, in God, although a somewhat lacking one. I'd sooner die before any one of them.
It's amazing how a story can move you. What someone else has penned down, physically you could type. But the fire and imagination in their mind, you cannot copy.
Somewhere, inside of you, may lie a story. One of heroics, love, ire, jealousy, intelligence, power, sacrifice. Try your hand. Why not?
Write.