I am not a writer. In the same way I am not a runner, I am not a writer. Both leave me winded and regretting the last 10 minutes of my life. Everyone says practice makes perfect. Practice makes it easier. Yet I have ran a mile every day for a month and I am still wheezing by the end so I call bullshit on that one.
My next English essay has been assigned. It's an research essay about a monster. The first thing that comes to my mind as a monster is the Himalayan Yeti and I sit down to begin writing about it. I have no idea where to begin, the journey to the end sucks, and I just want it to be over. Like I said, just like running. This essay seems very time consuming and long, therefore I put it off for as long as possible. Three weeks later, I decide now might be a decent time to give it a stab, as the due date is the next morning before class begins. This fact does not faze me at all, as it is the norm for most of my writing assignments. I tend to put off the assignment until the last minute, to put off the pain of writing for as long as I possibly can. I find a comfortable study room, or perhaps my bed, maybe my desk, I’m not sure it’s truly the most important decision. Okay, Okay. I guess now is the time to start this research essay. There is no way I can put this off for any longer. I dive right in with zero preparation and shield my eyes for the inevitable mess that is my first draft. I peel my hands away from my eyes and begin reading what I had written. Hmm, not bad. I press submit.