stianedv

This was written on the seventeenth of January, two-thousand and thirteen by a boy. This boy, him being but an ordinary boy thought it would be a bright idea, sort of a Bildung opportunity to articulate his ideas through pixels, as this was what people did when this was written, and what he was doing while he was writing. And though him being but an ordinary boy, he dreamt ever so endearingly of being extraordinary. As his heroes where, and still are; he wanted to be a poet-laureate, a writer for the people and for the academics alike, but yet, at the somber age of nineteen he'd still not reached any of those ambitions. "So", he thought to himself, "I'm not a good writer. How could I become a better one?". But this, he realized; wouldn't be an easy task, for writing is as much doing as it is thinking, and not as much thinking as it is doing; he would have to be disciplined, and communitative, he would have to learn by failing and fail by learning, so as to build character, and stamina. He would have to write, then rewrite and then rewise and rewrite again umph-teen times those pixel-dusted manuscripts and dreams, so as to maybe be able to make something of it. Of course; when one does what one wants to do, and what fills one with joy and a love of life, doing this is not at all difficult, but ignoring distraction is difficult. "And so," he thought again, "what if I made Distraction my Discipline?"

He came to the conclution that he should, as his parents and his teachers had told him to, get a network. Try to find other writers; good writers, bad writers, aspiring writers, mentors and doctors to help him learn. "This," he thought, "could be done using the internet."

At school he had learnt about the network of academics; a group of quite clever people whom communicated through letters in the golden days of yore, and how they published articles in not so rich'n'famous journals published by their peers and frienemies. What if he could find a network of just such people as himself? And that through the fantastic networking devices that everyone has and carries in their pockets now-a-days! He dreamt, and he dreamed, and then he realized that it was possible, and that the first step, though be it the hardest, would take him one step closer towards this dream, this dream of infinite learning, this dream of infinite, unstoppable, uncontrollable writing.

Regards from a boy;
Stian.