Eggs

While taking breaks from reading works by Sartre or Nietzsche, I do the things asked of me by my teachers. Recently I was given a small packet containing short stories to read, and one story appealed to me more than the rest, so I decided to talk about it here. The story more directly deals with the genesis of writing, as opposed to the developed process, which I am more accustomed to seeing discussed. William Kennedy is a noted author and journalist, and in this short story he describes an absolutely godawful short story that he tried to get published in Collier's.
It seems to me that the author had known all along that the short story within the short story wasn't very good, but he had very forgiving critics, such as his mother and banjo teacher. Obviously unsatisfied with their responses of "very good," he decides to ask his father, who validates his opinion that the story sucked. Not expecting this, the author is shocked and decides not to ask his father for feedback anymore.
This is a very simple story, but it carries several important messages. First of all, not every single piece you write, including your first one, has to be very good. It doesn't matter whether or not you write a completely crappy essay, as long as you decide that you like it, you may still show pride in your work. Kennedy keeps his initial rejection slip as proof of this. The quality of the works to come aren't always reflected by early stories.
Secondly, Kennedy shows that writing is a process, and you gradually improve as a writer by taking what you like about your work, and keeping it to use or improve upon later. The use of Herby, the heroic protagonist of Eggs, as a character in a later work exemplifies this. Even though "a retarded orangutan could write a better story than 'Eggs'," a story can "get better," even without becoming good.
Kennedy's story gives hope to budding writers who (by most standards) are terrible at writing. Anyone who feels distressed over the quality of their work, whether it be in writing, academics, or construction, would do well to read and analyze this story.

Why I choose to write

I can't say for certain which of Orwell's four primary motives for writing apply to me the most. Being a cynic, I can't help but identify myself with sheer egoism. I have a dangerous level of self-confidence. While I don't usually think of myself as being above others in reality, I acknowledge that to myself I am essentially a god. I would never hesitate to hold open a door for someone, or help an old lady across the street (as the cliche example goes), but I believe that every person, myself included, should be at the center of their own respective universes. My acknowledgement of the fact that I'm far from the center of others' worlds sets me apart from the average person with a non-philosophical sense of self-importance.

When I write, it is usually because it's necessary work for a class that I'm taking. But when I'm seriously writing (with fervor, as in more than just for school) I am usually attempting to convey some sort of idea or knowledge to someone who I believe isn't knowledgeable on a subject. I only very rarely write argumentatively, most of the time my writing is meant to inform. I believe that when I give people my knowledge through writing, my ideals become more accessible, more feasible, or more true for them. To this end I essentially try to push myself towards the center of others' worlds via proxy. Everyone desires power and recognition, and I'm no exception to this. It's my cynical view of the human race that all motives are inherently selfish, ignoring the negative connotations associated with the word. Writing, being an expression of humanity, must therefore be purely selfish as well.

A fitting beginning

The potential for this blog is infinite, though in all likelihood it will never amount to anything of considerable importance. That being said, there must be some purpose to pouring one's thoughts into the internet. I won't pretend to know what that purpose is. After all, I'm almost sure there is no general truth in the real purpose behind blogging. Some people do it to become famous, others do it because they're famous. As I said previously in the description, I created this space to spew my thoughts into the cesspool of the internet because it was necessary work for a composition class that I'm engaged in.

I like video games. I pour a considerable amount of my energy into playing them and beating them. Many would view my love of gaming as a trivial characteristic of a bored child, which will have no meaning once I grow up. I myself don't understand why or how anyone could enjoy the outdoors so much, or expend the energy to become a great painter when there are more enjoyable activities abound. We're free to form our own preferences and do what we want, without persecution from others if we're lucky. Because anyone can be a blogger and share their thoughts, there must be no single motive for the act of blogging. </post>