I am a Bad Writer


Lately I have been going to essays.ph to earn a little money. It’s a website which hires freelance writers. As a writer you can write articles depending on your taste. Not only articles, but you can also get ebook writing jobs.
I have been writing articles for almost two weeks now. To my great sadness, I have only been getting rejected.  The common comments of the editors were “typos, awkward sentence construction and grammar lapses.”

I can excuse myself and say that I have not been writing officially for two years. (And by officially, here I meant under any publication.) But that lapse is still my fault. My skills have slipped. Or maybe I am not as good in writing as I thought I am.

I still love writing. It has always been my primary mode of expression. It’s just sad that I am bad at doing what I love. 

Maybe I am a bad writer. But that’s alright. I will still write not for the money, not for the editors but for me.  I will not stay as a bad writer all my life. If I work hard and practice I am bound to get better. As Janet Hulstrand once said “Bad writing precedes good writing. It is an infallible rule. So do not try to avoid it.” 

Bad writer or not I will write. I will write as I breathe. 

Photo retrieved from: http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/5698207

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Letters #1

I have known him for more than four years. But sometimes when I look into his eyes, there is something familiar yet so strange. 

He loves me. That I know as much, he tells me that everyday. And yet I feel my love feels so immature compared to his. His love is protective, patient and kind. I think he has an old beautiful mind that sometimes I cannot grasp.  A love that I don’t understand and understand. 

But I think I like that he is a mystery and a familiarity. I want to take time and know more about him. 

A Little Gray Area

I used to keep a different WordPress page. It’s full of fictional stories and poems. I guess you can say that my style was something out of a children’s storybook. My muse however had left me and my inspirations had stopped for more than a year now. I still try to write once in a while, but my imagination is no longer as grand as before.

Someone told me maybe because my preferences, or I myself had changed and so I won’t be able to write fiction anymore. I still like to runaway into worlds of fiction. It’s  just that I cannot create my own anymore.

I like to think I am the same person one year ago. Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. Or both, a troublesome little gray area. Either way, I write what I can. 

Thank you for visiting my page.