I’m a writer. That’s a fact. That’s what I consider myself to be. Whether I’m good or bad has no relevance in my title.
If I’m not that impressive as a writer I shall work steadily to become one. I do my craft out of a necessity to express, out of passion.
I make mistakes, sometimes, in life…writing. I don’t dwell over them. I learn….sometimes.
I like imperfection. You must, if you want to coexist with others. Imperfections become a habit and are part of us, we should celebrate that; talk about imperfections openly… If your ego is in a decent place, you’ll have nothing to fear by admitting you’re not flawless, untainted.
Man, I’ve been lucky. That, right there, is the most honest sentence I’ve ever written. That one sentence accurately describes me today. Luck has played a key role in every aspect of my life. In every predominant stage, luck has been there for me. I call it God. I call it Universe. I call it Buddha. Luck from the angels, because they do exist. I promise. But it’s only my belief. No need to have faith in me; in that area, I don’t need validation.
I’m a writer. I pride myself in loving what I do and having a job in the field. I value my comfort in different languages and being a bilingual copywriter. Am I the best? No. I suddenly become aware that it’s not even among my intentions. I’m happy were I am. I will always try to learn, but we learn a lot a day, if we are aware.
I also don’t believe there is a best, it’s an impossible task to accomplish, you would have to read almost, if not all, authors to determine that truthfully. And truthfully: it ain’t happening. Yeah, I know you are not suppose to use that word, ain’t, but there’s always a first time, that was it.
Thank you Luck, for everything.
So in love with him. And he can now read sentences which means he will understand my love for literature.