The Write Way

Modern Day Castle has acted as an outlet of creativity for my perpetually surging brain. Every post performs a ritual purging of my soul, and ultimately, drains me for several proceeding days. Now I won't say that I've encountered writer's block, because saying so would climatically conclude irony. How can one write about writer's block? It doesn't make sense. No, it's not writer's block, it's only a lack of something worthy to write about. So, for your reading pleasure, I will write. Write writing.

My ultimate goal in life is to be taken seriously as a writer: for both the screen, and the novel. Now I know this is a tiresome ambition, one that demands countless hours of thought and re-thought, but you know what, so does every other profession. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a chronological list of all the works I've written, or the witty banter I've composed, and if I could, it would be a painfully short list. At this point in my life, only 19 years running, I have yet to really sit down, and take my dream to the next level; to actually achieve it. Like I said, I'm quite youthful, and even so, I'm not worried about it. I'm not taking anything too seriously at this point; I'm taking it all in stride. And ta-da, this is what this website is used for. An extension of the writer I'd like to become: it helps me find a voice.

Not only at UBC, but in Vancouver's entirety, I am surrounded by people who have set out to do the exact same thing as me. I come from a place where culture is prominent, and at the base of that is a very strong literary and film following. I'd be lying if I said that I was ahead of the pact, that I had a better feel for the use of words and ideas than my peers; because I don't. I am beset on all sides by overly zealous author's-to-be, and wannabe film geniuses; people who are half way through their third novel, or their seventh screen play. The only clear attribute that distinguishes me from the vast majority, is that I'm not pretending to be someone who I'm not. I don't have my head stuck up my ass: appreciating my own inner cavity; I'm not stuck in some artsy hipster dream world where my ideas are completely superior to everyone else. My name can't be cast into the thesaurus reference for braggart, nor am I prone to snob appeal.

This being said, there are definitely legitimate young authors around me, ones who do not fall into my negative categorization. People who appreciate the written word for what it is, not for what social group it enters you into. Yet, as I write, I understand that I sound like the very people I am against. All I can tell you is that I'm different. My actions, my open minded philosophy: these are the reasons I am distinct. I do not assort myself by the clothes I buy exclusively at American Apparel, or that vintage store down the street. I am a aspiring bohemian, looking to start the right way. The right way being the destruction of current Hollywood practices. (Is he joking?)

Everyone's an artist now-a-days, everyone owns an expensive camera and everyone enjoys taking pictures with high and low exposure. I'll tell you one thing: I don't have an expensive camera.

But FUCK, do I want one.