After some digging, I saw that I started posting blog entries in blogspot.com last 2010.
Five years later, I started a wordpress account and continued my writing journey there.
My writing wasn’t exactly going viral (haha) so I was about to give up writing forever when Jen purchased me a domain named neithan.rocks. She told me she loves it when I write, and she appreciates me devoting time to my hobbies. At that time, I simply pointed the domain to the WordPress site.
Today, I’ve decided to build a proper website for neithan.rocks and I want to see where this leads me.
I’m still not convinced I should continue writing. Especially that because of my mother’s death, I realized that all of the money I saved since I started working couldn’t save a life. So anytime I’m doing something that will not directly pay me, I literally palpitate out of anger. My internal dialogue, sounding like a Wolf of Wall Street script.
“Dafuq are you volunteering for this shit… they are not going to pay you, use your talents to do something else that gets you paid. Where will you get the money for the next crisis? Will your volunteer work turn into hospital credits you can use to pay?”
I’ve created a substantial body of written work, but it did not make me rich like I thought it would. I think that the number of words that I’ve already written could have already made a book but up until now I am not an author. At least that could have been sold. So far, there seems to be no cash in writing from my experience of it.
As a podcast pointed out to me, “Writing/reading makes you smart, but most people make the wrong extrapolation that being smart makes you rich, it doesn’t. There are a lot of dumb rich guys and more hard working broke boys”. Recent events in my life forced me to submit to this fact. I feel scammed tho. I was one of the naive minds who thought the working hard to be smart would pay dividends.
Yet, now I’m here creating a new and improved home for my words.
I’m bracing myself for the wild uncertain ride ahead, deciding to continue writing words despite its non-utility. But there’s some kind of force pulling me to do it. Like, I have to do this because I’ll not sleep at night if I don’t.
I omitted the word “Love” in the title because I don’t think I can call it that- love affair. It doesn’t feel like it is. Is it still love if I feel frustrated because I wasn’t able to make this work. Why am I not an author yet? Is it still love if there is an ill feeling whenever I see Wattpad stories selling millions and I’m getting zero money from my carefully analyzed and technically written Scopus-indexed publication? I don’t think it is.
I’m starting to believe this is a curse; A twisted prank that’s meant to mock my efforts and ambitions.
Let’s create a Neithan and let’s have him want to be good and recognized for writing so much. And then, and here’s the important part, let’s never make him successful for it. 😀
I will live out this curse.
The insane joy of endless effort without reward.
With Sisyphus, I’m angry. With Sisyphus, I smile.
Wow, your article really resonated with me. I love the way you write, and it’s inspiring to see that even with all the challenges and frustrations, you’re still pushing forward and creating a new home for your words. It’s true that writing and reading can make you smart, but it’s not always enough to guarantee success or wealth. I think it takes a lot of passion, dedication, and a willingness to keep going even when things get tough. Your words really spoke to me, and I wish you all the best on your journey as a writer.
When do you consider writing utilitarian? Is it when it results to something tangible, such as money?
Would you consider writing utilitarian too if you’re able to unload any form of burden or maybe getting a bit of inner peace through writing about the high, low, and mundane aspects of life?
Hello, Marsden. Thank you for your time. At this point in my life, yes, I only consider writing useful if it will bring me something tangible (money in particular). I appreciate the perspective of its utility in bringing inner peace or alleviating mental burden (and I acknowledge its importance) but the death of my Mom (where I wasn’t able to support her hospital bills as much as I wanted to) pulled my reality back to basics. I can’t pay with likes, I can’t pay with views, The doctors will not accept citations in my research work as payment. I’m in a very boring villain arc and my redemption is being rich.