Ooh I'm All Wet

Yeah, anyway, enough about my private life...

So I've been trying to reach deep and meaningful conclusions on the front of art, with obvious particular reference to writing. Every writer, at some point, comes across this thing called 'the internal censor' which, as I understand it, is that berkish thing in your head saying. "Nah, mate, that's no good that. It sounds shit and boring, that."

The internal censor, though, has two 'weak points.' Other people say they like your stuff. Maybe they're lying, but they got no reason to so you make your own mind up there. The other weakness is the fact that you've read worse stuff (in your opinion) that's been published fine. So why do we listen to Mr/Mrs. Censor? No idea, love, no idea.

You can be reading Sylvia Plath one minute and then one in a series of the Star Wars novels (lol, don't judge me too harshly! The one I read was by Timothy Zahn, Heir to the Empire to be precise). One's like rubbing your eyeballs with the finest silk and producing the aurora borealis in your imagination. The other one is far from out of date faeces in your eyes producing rotting matter in your brain and you still enjoy it, so as long as you enjoy em both, one aint really better than the other, right?

It's upshot time, and I aint sure what to put... 'Just write' would be a good start, your effort has its own merits whatever the hell it is. Maybe I'll have the actual balls to put some more writing up next time, who knows!?! Now it's probs time to towel off...