"Good writing is like a windowpane." -George Orwell

Alyssa is and will always be her name.

She wields her pen in sword stance, slays her demons with it and uses their blood as ink to paint a story only she can write. Every stroke of the pen spells a word of her past. It is upon the paper canvas that she will speak her latent testimonies, and breath an extra life into those who listen.

Alyssa's friend Bianca is never pleased: "What have you to gain from writing! It's a waste of time and effort, and you're not even that good at it." Bianca never understood what writing meant. Writing was a doorway for Alyssa to break the inner silence, to speak the unutterable experiences of a past without double. To Alyssa, this was good writing: all writing that was composed of personal experiences. Punctuation and vocabulary are merely secondary to the written experience of a creative soul. An experience, after all, is like a star among stars, each with its own intensity, magnitude and warmth.

A good writer pens a life you've never known before.

I’ve written for the vast majority of my life. A few years ago I began seeking ways to get that writing noticed. Eventually I found my way to Wattpad, then here after the Wattpad thing flopped. I’ve checked a lot of sites out, from fanfiction repositories to original posting. One thing I’ve realized. Quality of writing takes a backseat to advertising. And that’s sad to say, but from my experience I believe it to be true. Wattpad is basically the YouTube of aspiring authors. The flashy, the loud, and the conformist succeed—conformist meaning those who write clones of what’s already popular to share in the success. There are so many “good girl meets bad boy” stories on Wattpad that you’d be hard-pressed to find an end to the list. It’s such a simple concept that the avid reception it garnered was a bit baffling to me. I have a taste for the bizarre, the surreal, the complex. The bad boy/good girl dynamic is fine I suppose, but the reader base of Wattpad gives tens of millions of reads to simple stories with common themes. Some of these stories (I’ve heard) are rife with misspellings, flat characters, cookie-cutter or unrealistic dialogue...the bullet points go on. I knew one dude who wrote on Wattpad who was actually amazing at what he did, yet what I read of his original, well-written and pulse-pounding story only raked in a paltry sum of reads. The reception of his work paled in comparison to the reception of eerily hive-minded sameness. Why is that, I wonder. Wattpad is one of the most popular writing sites in existence, boasting a hefty ninety million users. Those users spend over fifteen billion minutes each month trafficking the site. Most of said minutes are invested into what’s already popular. Not many bother to search out the hidden gems.

To answer your question though, what makes a good writer is simply perseverance. Yes, social media has shortened the general attention span. And there’s a lot of people who find comfort in sameness, so they’re drawn to it. If your work does not fit into the desired categories of the cultural appetite, you’re usually ignored in favor of something already popular that does. You’ve likely heard the saying “the rich get richer and the poor get poorer”. Well, Wattpad exemplifies that in a way. What’s popular commonly gains more and more traction, while those gone unnoticed find themselves wondering why they invested the time it took to write their story in the first place. The ‘good writers’, I’d say, are the ones who don’t give up despite this phenomenon, who stick to their guns amidst perpetual rejection, who write for the love of it, who are content to write for free, who always look for ways to improve, who aren’t afraid to admit taking heavy inspiration from their predecessors, who aren’t afraid to write cringe for years until their young system is purged of it. Heck, I’m still not purged of my cringe. Possibly, by this time next year, I’ll be mentally reeling from the lackluster content I’m creating now. But that shows effort and growth. That shows perseverance. One who dares to write against the grain despite having every odd stacked against them, one who has a story to be told and who will (metaphorically) explode if they don’t tell it—that’s a good writer. Good writers aren’t sellouts or people-pleasers, and they don’t have to be overly loud and flashy because their work stands on its own. Good writers are those who refuse to dumb themselves down for the sake of cultural appeasement, who refuse to compromise in the face of adversity. And chances are, if you’re reading this, it means you’ve persevered. You’re here, after all, Good Writers.

#opinion

Nobody is born to fly

we first grow wings

and test the tides

The tides gets greedy

consumes our pride

The forge, the hammering

The will to fight

blisters and withers

from rust to shine

As time solidifies,

strength magnified.

The tide we were quondam denied.

Took refuge beneath our arms

We’ve grown to fly

born dependent

Now we rule the sky

Embrace your wild

It’s the ony way to survive

There is a monster that sits at the foot of my bed. I do not name it, because that would only serve to make it real. You tell me it’s real, you call it names and I press my hands over my ears, refusing to believe you. You wish I would get help, but I don’t. Getting help would mean admitting the existence of this beast. It is not real, I tell myself repeatedly, but words start to sound meaningless the more you say them.

My monster is a shape-changer of sorts. There are days when it is nothing more than a little black dog, when I can pull a leash over its neck and drag it along behind me, when I can tie it to the chair as I get dressed and carry it with me to work. On these days, I can almost forget that it is even there.

There are the in-between days, when my monster turns into a wolf whose head reaches my shoulder, whose growl seems to rattle my entire body, whose yellow fangs glisten beneath pink and black gums.

It takes the two of us to wrestle it to the ground. We tie chains around its legs, when we have chains; we put a muzzle over its jaws, when we have a muzzle. These are the days when I can defeat my monster. I make it past the edge of my bed, through the door, into the kitchen. Sometimes I even get to work. But I am tired, exhausted from the fight to keep the beast under control. Even when we tie it down, it sits in the corner of my vision, salivating at the idea of its next meal.

And then there are the Black days. I call it this because, when I wake up, the monster has grown so huge that it envelopes the whole room and wraps its great shadowy fingers tightly around my body, strapping me to the bed. I fight and I kick and I scream as loud as I can, but even you can’t fight off the shadows on these days. They are too thick and twisted and contorted. You say you hold my hand, but on these days, I can’t feel it. A gaping Black hole yawns inside my body, threatening to swallow me completely, to erase the world from existence and to throw me into a place so deep I will never be able to get out. There are days when I believe this will happen.

And I think it would, were I alone on these days.

But you wait patiently, arms stretching towards me, waiting and waiting and waiting while the Black chews away at my spirit. You wait until it grows weak, and then we take it on together, side by side. I am grateful I do not have to fight my monster alone.

I like to believe that one day, we will kill it. Together.

When you condemn me to every punishment your merciful god can dispense, I will fight harder than you because I fight for everyone who suffers under your ideals, including you. Hate makes everyone suffer.

Go ahead.

Burn my rainbows, refuse my wedding cake, cancel my prom. You can't stop me.

Societial norms have caused people to despise others without knowing them because they believe something different to them is weird and disgusting. People are driven to trepidation and horror and denial and pain because people do not know how to accept others. I mean if you live in a country which it is illegal to actually be any form of gay, you have virtually no hope unless you move away from everything you know. You have barely any hope that people you love will accept you. And that is only the people that can accept themselves. Many people are trapped in such deep denial that it makes them spiteful. It makes them have homophobic tendencies because they hate themselves. How sad is it that we live in a world where you hate others because they are the same/similar to you and it all stems from the fact that we are brought up to not accept being different?

Society is changing but only in more western areas, like the U.K. Can i say that since there was a case not that long ago where 2 girls got beaten up for not kissing in front a group of boys and being gay or something ridiculous like that. Imagine being in a less progressive area. How are people supposed to be themselves when they are constantly bombarded with how being attracted to the same gender is something so horrific? That was a case of physical retaliation against someone stemming from homophobia so, let's look at more everyday cases. I always hear people say idiotic things like "the opposite gender to mine being gay is fine but if someone the same gender as me is gay i feel grossed out because i feel like they are looking at me." First of all, who inflated your ego to the size of Jupiter? Second, you are not attracted to everyone of the opposite gender to you????????? Fix your logic because you do not make sense. Why is it ingrained in our society to think like this and why do people normalise and justify this way of thinking?

Homophobic religious people are honestly laughable. Their way of thinking is just so ironic. The bible does say homosexuality is a sin BUT it also does say judging others is a sin. So, what makes one sin less of a tragedy to commit than another sin? Oh right, nothing. This is how our society thinks and it is so backwards. It treats homosexuality like it is a choice when it isn't in the slightest. Do you know what is a choice? Being a murderer, a criminal in general or just being your average asshole. However, in countries ruled by things like Sharia-law, you can be sentanced to death for being gay. I mean something you cannot choose, you are punished for and something that does not hurt anyone is something you are punished for and all because people are ignorant.

Then, these people raise their kids into spiteful cretins ready to plague me with their existences. I am not ready to argue with someone about why being gay is not a bad thing for them to say bUt tHe bIBLe. Shut. Your. Mouth. People like you have spoken too much in this world just to say arguments WITH NO ACTUAL EVIDENCE. I mean God forbid I want an actual debate where you provide suitable proof as to why the homosexuals are such a bad thing. Gosh get a life Karen.

There were probably many errors in this but i am now too heated to care :)

Seven days. Perhaps each day represents one of the seven deadly sins? You see, a sickening and disturbing emotion caused me to awaken on a seemingly typical day while inching its way through my fragile limbs.

I woke up to see an ominous text on my phone and that’s how I found out. That’s how I found out that mine and everyone else’s lives were being cut short by the hands of some demonic creature as it plagued us. I’ve had an existential crisis before, but nothing like the one I had on this first damned day. I knew everything I’d ever done in the past was meaningless. I mean everything as it won’t be remembered, I have no kin to pass my stories down to so that they can pass those down to their kin and I have no remarkable achievements to look back on. I am sixteen years of age. In 5483 days of living I have done nothing useful or to be proud of. I can tell you what I have done. I’ve hurt people. I’d tell several woman at the same time that I loved them and would never hurt them or be with another. I mean for god sake I’m only sixteen and I’ve broken more hearts than most people would do in a life time and without a care at that. I would woe several women at once, just laughing as I tricked them with my phoney and empty "feelings." Then, I would purposefully give hints that I wasn't loyal. That's when it got good. I would show my attention was divided when I was with them, I would become distant and cold while they were left to wonder why and I would then give them hope by telling them they were imagining it and they began to think they were becoming insane due to their own paranoia. Because how could I, the perfect man, do such a thing as be disloyal? How could I do this when I love you? Oh right, she only THINKS I love her because I lead her to that conclusion. I made her think of all this because I thrived off of the idea of controlling an innocent girl and making her cry every night because of me and how i tricked her. Just so that I could comfort her and do the same thing all over again. Once I convinced her that she was just overthinking, I'd make her see proof she couldn't deny. Visual first hand proof of me being intimate with another women. All of her hope and joy and future plans and trust would get crushed like a cute little pupppy having a tonne dropped on them. In one singular moment she realised what I truly was and realised she knew nothing about me. About the man she loved. After all of this, I'd tell her the constant acusations were too much for me and with an ill judged moment I had, "decided to do what you always thought I was doing when I wasn't." With that, all her ideas of "the one," would be shattered, she would then believe she drove me away and that she was in the wrong. The sick satisfaction I would get from doing so made life worth living. When I’m called forwards to answer what sins I’ve committed, I can positively say I’ve been extremely lustful towards more than one woman at one time. I’ve torn their feeble hearts apart like paper and I did it as a hobby. I didn’t feel regret until now. Although, I can’t say this even counts as repenting because I only started to feel horrible about my actions when I realised it would negatively impact me in the after life...

On the second day, I thought about how I’m selfish. Was it my environment or do I just blame it on that? I was brought up in a pretty well off family I could say I was never taught to care about others. I mean I never worried about the poor because it’s not my problem. I always told the liberal-crazies who thought we should “think about others, even if we don’t know them while also helping out our community and those who are less fortunate,” that they were just trying to feel better about themselves and that they didn’t care about others. Now I don’t even know what my issue with this viewpoint was. Even if you’re trying to help yourself, you’re still helping others so it’s a win-win situaction. I just wish I realised sooner. All I ever have done was buy myself ample amounts of food and drinks while not thinking about those who can’t choose to do this. I mean I’m a glutton. I didn’t need so much I just liked the idea of being able to get that much. I should’ve helped out all of those homeless people and those who aren’t as well-off but instead, I laughed at them, I mean I don’t deserve what I have, I was just lucky to have my parents. I did much worse than just laugh though. I made a man homeless because I was bored. My family had a house-keeper figure and he was loyal to our family and loved us as he had worked for us for decades. However, if you haven't noted this already, I chose to be a despicable person, I mean why leave this innocent man alone when I can ruin him? So, I told my parents that since I was younger, from the ripe age of ten years old, that he had been abusing me. Of course I put on the greatest act possible and oh how I played my part well. I got a knife and made several long and almost cuts on my body to make it seem like our loving worker, wasn't as loving as we all previously had thought and that I had narrowly escaped death when he went on rampage fueled by his rage. I gave myself bruises a while before I did this to make it look like he attacked me over the course of the weeks leading to the attack and that I had been hiding it "but I just had to tell someone now because I was scared for my life." I made up accounts of times he had hit me for the past six years and how it would be in a place where nobody could see and that I had hidden the bruises as "I was petrified," and because "I loved him like family."

I told my parents to not press charges as i still cared for him "afterall, he was just a mentally ill man in his 50s." So, we threw him out while he protested the accusations thrown at him despite the knife marks and bruises. My parents obviously did not believe him and were enraged at the fact that he wouldn't admit to his wrong doings. Everytime he would try to work somewhere else, I would make sure he wouldn't be employed using my persuasion or money and he thought there was something wrong with him, like he had done something wrong in a past life and this was karma. No, it was my genius what caused him to be in his state. Something about tearing away what a man has built up all his life and doing so in such a complex way that he can never build it up again brang a smirk to my face. I mean how do you build a good reputation back up after being shunned for being such a disgusting inhumane person? I ruined 50 years of life in the matter of weeks. He was always sleeping in the same place near the street and so, I'd go to see the result of my actions on most days. The loss of hope made me feel like a king honestly.

On the third day, I realised how I am a greedy being with not a selfless bone in my body. I was never satisfied. I always wanted more. If it was something like a game console or even designer clothes that were overpriced to the extreme, I wanted it and more. I mean I’m not taking that to the grave. Would I be remembered for those things? “Oh he had money from his parents to buy things.” None of those things have sentimental value. I don’t give a crap about any of this junk. I don’t care. It’s all so meaningless when you look at the bigger picture. Yet, I thought I was worth more than others because of these things? I constantly bragged about all of my “cool stuff,” and here I am with nothing to really care about. Once again, I could’ve helped others because I had plentiful amounts of money. I could’ve helped someone by giving them something that they couldn’t buy with their income. I could’ve helped at least one person, so that they could feel how I wanted to feel when I bought overpriced items and that is contentment.

On the fourth day, I didn’t leave my room. Horrid thoughts attacked my miserable existence like the devil giving me what I truly deserve. If I was told to look back at everything I’ve done in my pitiful existence, if I was given a video and watched it, what would I see? Me lazing about for the majority of my days, not helping my parents or friends in the slightest, not having hobbies, not doing anything productive and then having the most negative mindset spawn from this behaviour. I mean I have no excuse really. I’ve done nothing at all. I can’t do anything but think about me doing nothing. I mean what a joke life is right? There are so many people that deserve the best and here I am, born into privilege with no appreciation to be seen. People work all their lives to get what I was born with, and I took it for granted. I’d see myself laze about all day while wondering why my grades were dropping. When I did go out I’d just be a predator, creating a facade to reel people in because how would I attract anyone when I have no personality? I haven’t experienced anything because I’ve decided not to. I always would detach myself from people just in case they realised it was all fake. Maybe I always knew I was an awful person and I was just in denial. I always knew I could’ve improved myself by perhaps doing something good for myself, which makes it worse because I knew the problem and I decided to ignore it. I was too indolent to do anything.

On the fifth and sixth day, I didn’t even leave my bed. I just laid there, thinking about how close my demise was, thinking how the world loses nothing without the presence of my disgusting existence. I realised how much I envied others. I envied them for not being spiteful like me, for actually choosing to be conscious of their actions and the consequences that follow them, for actually wanting to make a change in the world no matter how small and in turn, this made them happier because they were changing themselves to be more perceptive and thoughtful with every change they made. I was jealous of these people because they are better and more valuable members of society. With this came the vengeful anger I had towards these people. I wanted them to feel pain and to suffer. Because in my head, they mocked me, knowing they were better than me and in my head I thought they deserved to not feel anything close to joy. So, I hurt them in any way I could, I mocked them and attacked them and disregarded them and made them feel worthless and minimal, like how I felt. I mean really I am who I chose to be. People with upbringings you could describe as hell on earth CHOSE to be people who would do great things. I CHOSE to damage people both emotionally and physically because if I’m not happy why does anyone else deserve to be?

Finally day seven came. I knew I couldn’t do anything about the world as we knew it ceasing to exist so, instead I wallowed in self pity, something I’ve done my whole life. I mean GOSH feel bad for me, I’m a wealthy and priviliged and loved and popular person living in a western society seriously my life is so exremely hard. For the last seven days I’ve felt guilt. Only because I’ve been made to realise. I could’ve lived my whole life ignoring the issues I made myself have due to my excessive pride. I was so proud of my behaviour but for what?

If we recollect my memories all I did was lust over women, be a glutton, be greedy, be lazy, be envious and be prideful. I am a horrid human, partly for things that I did do and partly for things that I didn’t do. Which is worse? Creating disharmony in your environment because you’re a pitiful human being or not doing anything about the disharmony in your environment because it was already there? When the clock strikes 11:59pm, I will have one minute to live and I can only take my guilt to the grave. I don’t even believe in God if I’m honest but I hope he exists. I hope he does so he can give me a one way ticket to hell. I won’t even protest. I know I deserve it I mean why should I try to repent when my intentions will be polluted? Because I know we’re all going to die meaning I am doing it to relieve my own conscience so what’s the point? I hope all the people that aren’t like me end up in a good place. Somewhere far away from people like me who are there to poison their good intentions and actions. Somewhere they deserve to be. Their own utopia much better than this hell on earth created by horrid people who make the good apples of human beings tremble with trepidation. I know that I can’t learn from my mistakes but I wish somebody could...

A moment is sixty seconds.

Each second holds an eternity.

It only takes a second,

To save the world.

It takes a single second,

To right a wrong.

One minute.

Sixty chances,

To do the right thing.

Sixty chances,

To tell someone,

You love them.

One second to do wrong.

One to apologize.

One for forgiveness.

And fifty-seven,

For rebuilding that relationship,

Stonger than ever.

Sixty friends,

You could make.

Sixty hearts,

You could break.

Each second,

Is worth more,

Than it's weight in gold.

But each second,

Holds so much weight.

There isn't enough gold,

For a single second,

Let alone a minute.

Sixty seconds,

Can be,

The worst mistake,

Of your life.

It can be the best decision.

So much potential.

It seems like such a short,

Amount of time.

But one minute,

Can change a life.

The person you are,

Shifts with each second.

Sixty shifts,

In a minute.

Every minute,

Brings you futher from where,

You started.

In a single minute,

You can see another,

Live or die.

You,

Could live or die.

Each moment is uncertain;

You will not know if you will have another,

Until you have it.

You will not know,

If it is your last,

Until you've had it.

A moment.

Sixty eternities.

Sixty possibilities.

Sixty chances,

To change the world.

Use your moments wisely.