"All of us learn to write in the second grade. Most of us go on to greater things."
-- Bobby Knight
-- Bobby Knight
My name is Loren Hopkins and I've been writing semi-consistently for almost one year. It's time to take a fearless moral inventory of my condition. What is best in life? To destroy your enemies, drive them before you and hear the lamentations of the women, keeps you satisfied for only so long. I feel like I need something else.
Spread across this tiny portion of cyber space are the esoteric branches of my thought. A tangle of broken links, dead blogs and erratic updates, yet still I persist. The Zero Readers look on and nod reassuringly, although I'm certain that they're only humouring me. Never encourage an awoken giant.
Aristotle decided long ago that the core desire of every man and woman is happiness. Fine. Who am I to argue. I'll take your happiness and raise you one billion dollars. Just a thought experiment. I see your chips are still on the table. Happiness wins again. Damn you Aristotle.
Why writing? For nothing more or less than it's own sake. Exorcise my best-selling-author desires, the decadent hunger for sycophantic groupies. Sure, I'll accept them gladly when the time comes, but they are not the reason. The simple zen-like joy of directing my attention to a chosen point, my point is. Let the flow begin...er continue. Autotelic it is or I am.
I will not progress beyond the basic educational grasp of a child. I can live with this. I will wade through unexplored marshes untill I discover the tacit secrets of my field. I will write my happiness one word at a time if it kills me. Thank you. Thank you very much.