Part One: Climbing upon my diminutive pony here, so as not to insult the air in the stratosphere where the high and mighty reign, so clearly superior, over my head and the heads of my cohorts: my fellow (as yet) unpublished novelists. (And, speaking for myself, at least, I am not, thank you very much, a “wannabee writer”. I abhor that term. I write; therefore, I am a writer.)
It seems that many of us deluded fools believe wrongly, that there is some point and purpose to our writing. We should know better. We could never be good enough. There are already fine, erudite, and sophisticated authors aplenty, and we are fouling their turf and besmirching the name of “writer” and should cease and desist at once.
Harrumph!! Ptooie! I spit on that!
Can you tell I have recently read two articles wherein published authors of some renown, have blown hard over their own self-proclaimed superiority? And not only that, but made a strong point that so many people out there ‘trying’ are just a huge waste of time and effort. Grrrr. That kind of self-righteous pomposity sickens me.
Part Two: Get thee a life!
If you have nothing better to do with the one you have now than to cut people down and discourage them in their chosen endeavors, it’s time to get yourself a new life.
Look around you. See how imperfect everyone else is?
Good, that was the easy part.
Now, look in the mirror. Guess what! You’re not perfect either. Get over yourself, already.
Look outside of yourself and see what you can see. Look for a way to make the world just a tiny bit better, a tiny bit nicer.
Then do it.
And if you should happen to encounter someone in one of life’s small pools of happiness, fulfillment and contentment, for God’s sake, LET THEM WALLOW IN IT!
Thank you very much for reading. Ranting complete.
Have a shiny day. ;)
PS: These rants are for persons who shall remain unnamed. I do not know them personally, in the case of Part One, but I think we all know people for whom Part Two was written. Negatrons. Pessimists. And fun-spoilers of all stripes. (Of course, if you are reading my blog, I am certain this rant has nothing whatever to do with you. [g])
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4 comments:
Yikes. What on earth were you reading? (G)
And anyway, I've had a lifelong love affair with ponies. The first one I rode was a welsh named Sylvia Dinkie, I believe she lived to be about 36. (Oh, she saw me coming...many a bruised bottom did Sylvia Dinkie lavish upon the neighborhood children - a sign of her, um, esteem...)
High horses, btw, tend to live to be in their early twenties, so there!
_My_ pony is spotted brown and white shetland with a velvety muzzle. Her name is Ambition, and she's very loyal. What is your pony?
I'll only say one was an interview article and the other was comments made on another web site. So perhaps I was a little over the top, but even mild-mannered Mrs. Mitty gets steamed once in a while and needs to vent. ;)
LOL on Sylvia Dinkie - what a great name!
My only real life pony experience was when I watched a neighborhood friend ride one that was alleged to be a nice pony ('cause the friend was chicken to ride a big ol' horse). Turned out, that pony had a little Sylvia Dinkie - or maybe The Prince of Darkness - in him. He ran off with her like his tail was on fire and I just about died laughing, watching the whole thing and listening to her shrieks from afar. (Not nice of me I know, but I'd defy anyone to have *not* done the same, watching it all unfold...any hey, I was sixteen. [g])
I think I'll adopt that midnight black, unpredictable wild thing as *my* pony and name him after his behavior: Flametail [g] He reminds me to expect the unexpected and be ready for anything!
LOL! Your friend would have been much better off with a horse, ponies are (paradoxically) notoriously bad-tempered. Doesn't matter how far away the ground is if you don't fall off...
Il semble que vous soyez un expert dans ce domaine, vos remarques sont tres interessantes, merci.
- Daniel
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