Writing Isn’t Your Thing. Swallow Your Pride.

And focus on reading only…

Writing is difficult. I know. I’ve been on a story for more than four weeks now. I’m on edge. I haven’t made a headway. I’m struggling and gnashing teeth. I give up. The piece is as disjointed as a splattering of shit. Messed up and ugly as hell.

How in the universe do I go back, pick the awful pieces, clean the filth and hit publish?

I still call myself a writer. I love writing. My big brain tells me so, while my uninspired, tired fingers let me down. I know I can write, if inspiration hits.

Flash! A storyline appears in my blocked head again then disappears in a jiffy. Faster than I can tap the darn keyboard.

What shit!

I love profanity. It fills the gaps, sweetens the drudgery and shocks the serious and uptight reader. If you are one, get the fuck off my untidy lawn. Go read the prime and proper prose and stories. You may find handful meaning and learn how to mint bit-coins or wake by 4am, a smug, self-made billionaire. Whatever. I care not!

As for me and my scattered writing and uncultured words, we find peace and strength here. Hell knows.

Who cares again!

Ogonna Onyedike (Henry Waters Jr) February 2023