Who Am I Writing For?

Throughout this past month, I’ve been thinking of reasons as to why I write. Not just this blog, but in general. In my writing class, who do I write my papers for? Do I do it for myself? Or maybe I do it to impress people–my teacher and peers specifically. I guess I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to impress people with my writing abilities (or general lack of), but nonetheless, I was stuck asking myself these questions.

If I pick a topic that my teacher isn’t fond of, do I change it? I want a good grade because, well, that’s kind of the point of school. But then I wouldn’t be writing what I wanted, thus taking away my interest in the subject. And everybody knows that if you’re invested into the paper it’ll turn out better. This was evident in the last paper I turned it. My teacher persuaded me into taking my paper a certain route; it was a route that I had no intention of taking initially. It wasn’t a bad idea, but I had no interest in it. Still, I discussed it. I wasn’t willing to disobey my teacher in a sense.

But I should’ve.

I got an 89 on the paper, which I know isn’t bad, but I expected higher. It made me realize that I need to stop writing for other people and instead, write for myself. Express my own feelings and opinions–nobody else’s. But here’s the thing; I wasn’t even going to write this blog entry if it wasn’t for my friend Casey reminding me. She said she was disappointed that I haven’t posted something in a while, so that leads me to another point.

Am I still writing for other people? I believe so. I think anybody writing is doing it to please other people. Maybe pleasing other people is a rewarding yourself for the hard work you’ve put into the writing, but at the core, you’re still doing it to satisfy other people. It’s a circle that you go in, but it always starts with who’s reading it. I guess you’d only truly be writing for yourself if you have nobody reading what you write. My intentions for this blog were to act as a journal, where it would be for me, myself, and I. I didn’t expect anybody to read it, and that would just satisfy me. But now, I feel the need to please my followers and anybody else that might read this. So yes, I am still writing for other people. And as I go further into my writing career if you will, I’ll write for more and more people, not just myself.

So I guess this post is for you, Casey. You’re the person that I hoped would enjoy this extremely cheesy and pretty pointless post the most out of anybody.

Am I Addicted to Writing?

It’s 12:27 on a Sunday Night. I should be asleep, not writing on a blog. I’ll be up in five and half hours. Why am I on this? To be honest, I don’t know. I think I’m kind of addicted to writing. That could be credited to my Writing 121 teacher who sparked a newfound appreciation for the art, or it could just be me. Maybe I’ve always been interested in writing and now is the first time I’ve demonstrated it in a public manner. Except I’ve never had a journal, so it hasn’t presented itself in a private manner, either.

Nonetheless, I’m addicted. The feeling of taking an amazing picture is something I cherish; the feeling after you snap a breathtaking photo I would want to relive for the rest of my life. The same goes for when you finish a piece of writing. Just last Friday, I turned in a 3,850 word essay in. And just last night (three hours ago), I turned in a 1,000 word reflection for it. One would think that I’m tired of writing, yet here I am. I keep coming back. I’d hesitate to say writing and photography is my drug because I’ve never experienced the effects, but I’d say it’s close. When I finished my essay, I was relieved. I was happy. I was eager–eager to write more.

Not write more essays. Don’t get it twisted.

Write more. Write more on this. Write more in a journal. Write more in a place where I could write anything I wanted and not have to fit into guidelines.

I think I’m becoming addicted to writing.

Mixed Opinions on Netflix

Netflix–a streaming services that offers endless amounts of movies and shows. At least that’s what they want you to think. The dilemma I faced last night was finding a decent movie. Not even great; I just wanted to watch a decent one. I looked for Apocalypse Now or 2001: A Space Odyssey because they’ve been on my watch list for a while now, but Netflix doesn’t have them. I was pretty disappointed to say the least.

I didn’t want to watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off for the hundredth time, so I had to find a movie fast. After some research, I settled on Mulholland Drive. I’d never heard of it and didn’t recognize any of the people starring in it. It had good reviews, though. So I guess that’s why I watched it.

Let’s just say I spent two and a half hours of my Friday night being as confused as I’ll ever be. It was by far the most complex movie I’ve ever seen. I had to look up what it was about after I watched it. Even now, I still don’t really understand it. It was so hard to follow that I’m not completely sure if it was good or not. I probably wouldn’t watch it again because it was so long and confusing, but I guess you have to appreciate the complexity within the story.

I have no idea why I wrote this besides the fact that I hope an executive from Netflix will see this and decide to put Apocalypse Now and 2001: A Space Odyssey on it. That’s really it. And maybe to warn you to not watch Mulholland Drive if you’re pressed for time.

My Strange Interaction with a Homeless Man

Saturday night in Downtown Portland. It’s a lot more traffic at night than one would expect, so it took my friends and I longer to drive there than we’d thought. Regardless of how late we were on our imaginary schedule, Voodoo Donuts would still be open.

My friend parked his clunky, raised Jeep in Chinatown across the street. When we walked into the bright pink donut shop, there wasn’t a line, which even at midnight was unusual. While at the counter, their day old donut bucket caught my eye in the back and I had to have it. You and your friends can’t eat like, what, 30 donuts? Yeah, I knew we couldn’t. But who cares.

The cashier with extremely large gages in his ears hands me the bucket and we walk outside. For a late night in autumn, the weather was nice enough for us to sit outside. I look left to the hentai theatre, which I had no interest in, and then I look right to the group of homeless men. I’m not trying to make eye contact since I was pretty sure they’d ask for money. I mean, they did see me cash out on a massive bucket of donuts, so eye contact wasn’t even needed for them to come over and panhandle.

“Hey, any of y’all got a dollar?” the man asks to a general group of people.

Blank faces look at each other. His blank face? Looking at mine.

“Uh, nah. Sorry man,” I barely mumble.

Nah, sorry man,” he says sarcastically.

What the hell? Did I just get mocked by a homeless ma–

His fist strikes my left bicep. I’m stunned. My face stares down at my donut that resembles a shape of a penis (seriously). First, I was mocked by a homeless man who then hit me.

As he walked off, I could tell he was upset–even mad. I didn’t know what to make of the situation because I was still kind of shocked that he punched me in the arm.

* * *

Why does this matter? It doesn’t–like at all. I was just scrolling through my camera roll though and I saw a picture of the donut bucket and this strange situation popped into my head. I figured that I might never get punched by a homeless man again, let alone while eating a donut called “Cock & Balls”.

What is this?

What is this? My mind plays that broad question over and over again as I try to make out a plan for how to create a semi-decent blog. I’ve never done this before–I don’t blog. I don’t reflect. I don’t do anything that a stereotypical blogger should know how to do. So why would I make a blog? I don’t know.

What even makes a blog “good”? Shit, how would I know? I’m asking myself questions hoping to pull the answers out of a hat, even though I know that won’t happen. I just assume blogs are like wine as they get better with age, so everything from here on should be like reading an award winning novel. In addition to not knowing anything about blogs, I’m not sure what topics make for good material. The only reading I’ve done on the internet are memes on my twitter feed (check it out if you want good memes), so you could say that I’m a novice at connecting with people through this medium.

What I’m most concerned about is how to write these blog posts. My style of writing is more formulaic if you couldn’t tell by this point, and to be frank, if I was reading this on the internet, I wouldn’t of even made it to this point. Hopefully anybody actually reading this can appreciate proper grammar and a blog post that might take some time and thinking to write.

As I’ve worked through this first post, I’ve been thinking of a plan as what to write topically. I don’t want boring stories that nobody cares about; they have to be good stories. And for that reason, I don’t think that you’ll find me writing too many of them. I have a feeling that most of these posts will be reviews, either of music(!) or movies, or a question that’s on my mind at the time. Hopefully it’ll be a question that challenges the way people think, because that’s something I enjoy discussing.

One last thing. If the day ever comes where I have to talk about the idea for my domain name, that’ll be the last post because I’d simply have no ideas left.