I suck at writing.
I read a lot.
I wrote a lot in high school and college.
But I still suck at writing.
Okay, maybe I don't suck. but I am not as marvelous as I want to be. and by marvelous I mean 'the person who wrote this must be a brilliant being, this being is attractively intimidating and intimidatingly attractive and I must get to know this person' kind of marvelous.
I used to blame my parents. because they don't speak English. They don't write English. Maybe I still blame them a little bit. I blame them for a lot of things, but it never devalues all the other great things they've provided me with.
I also blame how much value was placed on speedreading as a student. Read quickly, skip words, get the content, move on.
Anyway. Today, I am deciding that I will own up and take charge of this pending issue. As of this moment, deciding has become a decided.
There are many ways that I can reach the world of exquisite writing. I imagine this world to be full of fancy people, charming people. Stoners who effortlessly come up with the most beautiful phrases, poets and musicians (also probably stoned) who breath life into words, best of the bloggers, rappers, journalists and authors - all reside there, spitting beautiful verbage at each other.
Perhaps I should read books, this time focusing more on the skill and less on the content. Perhaps I should venture outside of the International Relations and Environmental genres and read more poetry, and the literary classics.
note to self: start with that book with the pretty looking indian woman that i borrowed from ac