For most of my past, I wanted to write. My dream of being a Journalist was born out of my desire for self-expression or making my feelings noticed. My profile says an aspiring journalist in the making ( wishful thinking ).
However, the fact I am no good at writing in the past left me in tears, in fact, I have cried so hard in the past few months I feel almost empty, a waste of a person with little to offer the world. Most people would simply say “Give up the dream you are not meant to be a writer”
My dream continues, and my desire is unstoppable.
I may have left my life as a writer or journalist just a little too late in life.
To be realistic can I really become a well verse writer or am I just a waste of space? Like my inner voice constantly and continuously tells me to the point of exhaustion.
Even now attending university and next semester the promise of salvation or deliverance in the form of finishing my degree in advanced creative writing will hopefully spell the end to my somewhat endless nightmares. My failures may turn into something positive and productive.
My sixteen articles so far published on the medium will actually be noticed and the inspiration to write many more, with no writer’s block or cheating by using AI (Artificial Intelligence). My work meeting approval at last
Admittedly my work will need to be specific, not too broad for people to take an interest in and narrow down what needed to be written. All I can say my tears one day may be tears of joy. My dreams fulfilled.
My chance of being a writer/journalist again is hopefully with luck happening soon. My university next semester will give me the ability to write, while my constant articles do not end in the bin. Even though it leave me in tears that nobody likes what I write.
I know with each rejection I may get stronger and stronger and finally become what I need to be.