Always the Optimist (at least for the most part)

Here's a funny story: I tried to write a poem the other day. I try to write poems often, but they always suck. But my Script Writing professor told me that if I was serious about writing, I needed to be writing 5 pages per day. It doesn't matter what really, just so long as you keep your creative juices in a constant flow. I know, impossible right? Anyway, this particular poem I was trying to write was supposed to be sad and depressing. I don't know if you know this, but the only writing that ever means anything to anyone important (you know, the "man") is always about sad things, about struggles and turmoil and horrible crap like that. Earlier that evening, I heard some sad news that put me in a melancholy mood. When I feel melancholy, that's when I most feel like I may be able to write something intriguing. So I sat and began to write. I wrote about the sad things that Time brings, like death, and winter and so on. Then I ended it on a note that makes you say: Oh yeah, that's GOOD stuff right there. So I closed the book (p.s. thank you Ashley for the journal which is now my Doug's Book of Thoughts, Stories & Poetry) and went about doing other things, like cleaning my room. I kept thinking about what I wrote and after looking at a picture of my cute nephew (Thanks Lu for the calendar!), what I wrote started to bug me. "No, Dusty, it's fine. No one is ever going to read it anyway." I told myself. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. It wasn't finished. What was bothering me, was that I had made Time seem like the bad guy. But Time isn't the bad guy at all, so I had to write a whole other verse. Now I was talking about the wonderful things that Time brings, like Spring and babies. Then I did this cool thing where I took a phrase from the sad verse and wrote it again and it took on a whole other meaning! That's when I knew I was finished. :)
That's the thing though. I can never end things on a sad note. It bugs me too much. All my stories are happy. And that, my friends, is why I shall never become a famous writer. Because no one remembers the story when it's about flowers and butterflies and chocolate cake. They only remember the stories about the time those two people decided to kill themselves over what they thought was "love", or the man who slowly goes crazy and evil, or the little orphan boy who can't have a second helping.
But, always the optimist, I can't leave this blog post on a sad note. And telling myself I'm never going to be a great writer is definitely sad.
So I will end with this: There is hope for me to be a great and famous writer! I mean, eighty years from now when I'm dead and gone, someone will find my book of snippets and thoughts and they'll realize that I WAS amazing the whole time, but it just took a while for people to figure it out.
Hahahahahaha! Then I will laugh at the world from my grave!

Until next time! -Peace