They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, and I tend to wield both with equal amounts of awkwardness and aplomb.
My Occupational Therapist is out sick today, which means no playing with deceptively strong clothes pins or mass amounts of putty today, but since the data from yesterday indicates my hand strength is slightly past the expected level right now, I am not worried. What this does offer me is an uninterrupted day to focus on some things, the bulk of which will be coming up with an article to satisfy tomorrow's Lusipurr.com deadline. Indeed, we are still looking for more writers.
I've never considered myself a writer. I have been told that I write well, and occasionally possess a meek, but distinctive voice. The latter part of the statement I can agree with. I've no clue why I "speak" in this manner when I type, as it is just something that always seemed "correct." If one were to hear me speak in person, one would notice a rather plump schism exists between my writing voice and my vocal voice. When speaking, I trip over words, remove all authority from my voice, and take too long to formulate proper responses. I argue that I am very technically dim-witted, as my brain does not work at the speed needed to keep up with a normal discussion, so writing online simply gives me all the time I need to organize my thoughts.
Do I want to be a writer? Yes and no. I need to figure out what a writer actually is, first, as I still do not consider myself one. When I was trying my hand at fiction, I produced these paper thin plots to explore some burning hypothetical question that were closer to the level of writing one would find in internet fan fiction than anything my favorite authors might even accidentally produce. With the articles, I lack any real journalism experience (I once took a class, that does not count, trust me) and my interests in the subject matter are a bit niche, so I generally end up with something that sounds like it should be a blog, not in a publication.
The opinions of others drive us, whether we want them to or not. All my life, I have been told how talented and intelligent I am. I advise you to not do this to the people you love. Why? If I am any indication, regardless of this being anecdotal, it's that those types of comments come with expectations which I was terrified of not being able to meet because I have always, by some default setting in my brain, practiced the notion of knowing what I don't know, and I don't know shit. People mistook this for some vague iteration of intelligence, fluffed me with flattery, and I found my self in a position where it was easier to simply pretend. One result is that when I write, even these little blurbs, the habits are so deeply ingrained that my sophomoric opinions get published under a veneer of perceived eloquence. As the person knowing that truth, writing does not leave me with such a good feeling.
It is very weird to explain that to people in a blog.