On why I started writing

No one else could have said it better than Hemingway.

You guys wouldn't believe how many people have already asked me as to why I started writing. (It's zero. The answer is zero, guys.) If only some of you guys had asked me about why I started writing, I could have started this blog by saying "I'm writing this just to clear out the confusion that some people seem to have developed about my writing," WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY COOLER THAN THE WAY I STARTED THIS POST. I hate you guys.

To be honest, I had no idea why I started blogging. Some people seemed to get the idea that this blog was my first blog. It's not. I have already tried blogging for at least three times and the first two failed miserably. 

If I had to take a guess, I probably started blogging because I once read that women like a guy who is funny (and for some reason I thought that by writing, I could be funnier). Half a year after I started blogging, I read another article saying that a guy's smell matters more to women than his appearance. If I had known about this earlier, I probably would have started working (instead of writing) to buy a shitload of perfume. 

But now that I have been writing (somewhat) constantly for more than a year, I have developed a Stockholm Syndrome; writing is now an essential part of me. You see, one of my writing friends think of writing as breathing. I wouldn't exactly go as far as to say that. If I had to come up with an activity as to what writing is to me, I would probably describe it as peeing. Unless you go to a hospital every two hours and ask a doctor to extract pee from your bladder, peeing is necessary for everyone. I can hold my pee in for a few hours but then I would eventually have to relieve myself in a restroom. Peeing empties my bladder the same way that writing does to my brain. 

I love writing. Writing is fun; it lets you see the world in a whole new way and gives you a mean to describe it in 26 different letters. 

If you're a woman, you should try writing. It's the only way to talk without getting interrupted. And if you're a man, you should also try writing. It's like being a God minus the blasphemy. 

With that out of the way, I'd like to share some of the stories that I've written in my writing classes I took in college.

My (un-edited) first short story: here. (Warning: I wrote this in a writing class during my second semester in college and it sucked. Read ahead at your own risk.) I wrote this story because I had to (not because I wanted to) and I wrote most of it in dialogue. At that time, I didn't even know that description existed. I actually really like the idea behind this story and I swear one day I'll rewrite this story with proper punctuation.

My second story: here. I wrote this in a writing class during my last semester in college and I actually kinda like the way it went. I was told to write a story and for some odd reason, I wanted to write a love story. While the end product isn't exactly the happiest love story, I'm pretty satisfied with it. It's a story told backwards in alternating guy's and girl's perspective.

As for the title of this blog, it was inspired by a poem that I also wrote in my last writing class. The poem goes like:

An Egoist's Rant

I woke up to the sound of
high-pitched beeps. The kind of beeps you heard
when you bought something from a clothing store
and the cashier forgot to ring it
so you walked past the sensor with the tags still on the clothes. 

Seven beeps, or was it eight? were all it took to wake me up. How I managed to
count them, was one of my many useless talents God threw in when He made me.
I lay in bed for a few more seconds, before deciding that the annoying beeps
outweighed my urge to stay cocooned under my cloud-like blanket. 

I threw my perfectly white blanket with a large black coffee mark that wouldn't disappear after countless number of laundering (I gave up counting somewhere after 30 times) off me
and walked toward my alarm clock. I slapped it right on its head. 

I dragged myself into shower
undressed and twisting the shower knob precisely. 

30 degree to the left. I started as the shower head spat water and grazed my skin.
Cold. Freezing cold. 

I started counting at the top of my head. One, two, three...Before I managed to count to ten, steam from warm water started to fill the bathroom. 

Did I say warm?
Sorry, I meant hot. Mordor-hot.Another 10-degree-twist to the right, and that should do it. 

As I stood under the now-warm water like a writer waiting for inspiration to hit,
my mind began to wander about how many people could afford a shower
like this. Like the one I was having.
Children in Ethiopia had to walk for six straight hours to collect some water to drink,
surely they couldn't afford a shower like this. I silently thanked the Captain Obvious in my head. 

My mind began to wander everywhere else as I mindlessly wash my body.
I frantically told my mind to stop thinking about how this foamy fat was made.
Did I wash my hair already? I pulled my hair and it squeaked. I guessed I already did. 

I toweled myself to dry
and a silent curse slipped under my breath.
I cursed that it's another Monday to survive.
I cursed and cursed that it's another 5 days to endure
before I could get back to my weekend.

I agree that it's not the best poem. But when I decided to blog, the title "An Egoist's Rant" just kinda stuck to my head and so I chose to make it as my blog title.

I do hope this post answers all of your questions. 

Bottom line: if you guys are interested in writing and (for some odd reason) look up to me as your role model in writing (please don't), then by all means, start writing. Explain the world to the world itself by your stained glasses using your very own combination of 26 letters. Happy writing!