Is it just me or do I suck at writing? It’s weird, I’ve been both praised and condemned by professionals in writing on various occasions. On one hand, I’ve won awards and, on the other, I’ve barely gotten a passing grade. I don’t understand why writing can be so hard. When I was a kid, I really admired the authors of the books I loved. They were my heroes who created my heroes. No surprise that I always wanted to do the same stuff they were doing. As I got older, I came to realize something vitally important to my success as a writer: I suck at writing. Although I post things on here and I get papers with A’s on them, I’m still not a good writer. Even when my short story was chosen to be featured in my school’s paper, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it sucked royally. Am I just missing something? Is there some great conspiracy amongst the people in my life to constantly leave me in a haze of confusion? Do I suck? Probably. I’m a nobody in the world of writing. Literally a nobody, I have never published a work or done any significant writing. I hold no sway over the common conventions of writing. I’m nobody.
Part of my college major is English. The reason behind this is that I love to read and write. I would never survive in a labor intensive job or thrive in an office every day. Studying or teaching literature would honestly be my only hope for a somewhat happy life. I probably won’t make any money, but at least I’ll be having some fun, right? I always imagined that I would live out some sort of Cinderella story. Poor guy, he spends every day slaving away at his job only to be miserable because he doesn’t live his dream. Suddenly, his fairy wish prince arrives to fix it all and he lives happily ever after as a greatly admired author. The end. Sounds nice enough. Fleeting dreams, that’s what they are. These wishes have become the fragments of dreams dancing in a haze around my head after waking from a long sleep. It’s ridiculous. I’m not proficient or interesting enough to write anything valuable and yet I’m still hoping that it’ll come true. I while away the hours imaging what could be even after 15 years. I don’t want to waste away my life wishing for things that can’t be, but, at the same time, I don’t want to waste my life wondering why I didn’t try harder. In the end, I still suck at writing. At least I know that for sure and I’m not doing things like auditioning for American Idol and embarrassing myself because my friends can’t tell me the truth, I suck.
I didn’t mean for this post to get so depressing. I’m not usually a depressing sort of person. I’m actually quite optimistic. I just know my limits. Maybe I’ll post some of the person writing I’ve been doing just for the heck of it. No one reads this crap anyway so why not, right? Here, have that bad short story that got put in the school paper. It’s a “scary” story so settle in and get in the mood.
I glanced at my phone. It was later than I had planned to be there. It was already dark. It was my night to lock up the library so that meant I could use the computers to work late on projects. I sat at my desk double checking my paper before leaving. The head librarian had left about a half hour ago and the library was completely silent. I was really tired and I just wanted to get out of there so I hit print. I signed out of my computer and headed over to the printer. That’s when I heard the knocking. It caught me off guard and I let out a yelp then whipped around to look for the source. The library was completely dark except for the light from the computer screen. I could barely see, but I looked in the shadows for movement. Another knock.
“Hello?” I called out into the darkness. I thought it was another student working late or that had left something behind. It had happened before. I fumbled my way through the dark to the source of the continued knocking. They were loud like someone was slamming their head against the doors, shaking with the power behind the hits.
“You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning we’re clo–” I was cut off by the blows followed by a sharp scratching sound. It was like something metal running along glass. There was a quick glint of something in the window before I saw the door open a crack. I hadn’t locked the doors! I stumbled back to the other side of the front desk and ducked just as one of the doors slid open. I heard the click of the lock. My phone was sitting on top of the desk above my head but if I did that he would be able to see my arm. I looked to my left and saw my backpack. I pulled it close and got my keys. They held my car keys and the library key all on one so I pocketed that. I was listening for footsteps but heard nothing. The library’s silence had returned but held a more menacing feeling this time. It weighed heavy on my chest. I crawled across the floor to the other end of the desks. I knew the doors were only about seven feet away, I could make it. I peeked out around to see the open study area. I couldn’t see anything. This was my moment. I threw myself forward and ran to the doors. I stuffed the key into the lock and turned and threw the doors open as headed for the stairs.
I could hear him. His feet were slamming against the carpet of the library while mine crashed against the linoleum of the stairs. I didn’t dare turn around as I ran. I could hear him behind me and he was giggling. He was laughing at me while he gained distance on me. I exploded through the school doors and whipped around to an empty hallway. I was terrified! I ran to my car and didn’t hesitate to slam on the gas.
The security checked the footage and found a hooded figure who chased me to the first floor but had seemingly vanished when I reached the exit. They never found the guy and I never stay late at work anymore.
Embarrassing, right? That got put in a public paper that people read and it had my name on it. I cringe just thinking about it. Looking back over it, I can see so many errors. Truly horrifying. Well, I hope you enjoyed this little pity party I threw myself. Reach for your dreams. Good night.
Feeling a bit down,