I am not a writer.

I mean it, I'm not. I don't really even like writing. I don't write because I enjoy it. I write because sometimes I get a story stuck in my head. Be it an original tale or a fan fiction story. It bothers me and eats at me and keeps me awake at night until I write it down. Writing is not so much a pleasure as it is an exorcism. Sans the priests, spinning heads, and projectile vomiting.

I grow impatient for the story to be over with. I skip things, forget important plot points, don't introduce characters until much later, don't describe them physically, all to get to the end sooner. Because the sooner the story ends, the sooner I'm free of this demon inside my head.

I hate my writing too. I refuse to edit it. I hate it. I don't understand why people like it. Why 98
of my reviews are good. And that 2 of bad, well, they're always deleted because they're never constructive of helpful. It's always a "You suck." Once, for a Harry Potter fan fiction I wrote I got a "Oh my god, that was awful, you whore." These I delete because they're worthless reviews.
The people aren't even brave enough to leave a name. They're always anonymous reviews. How does just telling me I suck or calling me a whore improve my writing? I don't get it.

Not that I want to improve it. The only reason I started sharing the stories in the first place was to prove to people I was a bad writer. Instead, it seems to have done the opposite.

I still hate my writing. I still think it's horrible and all my reviewers must feel pity for me.

I'm a singer, not a writer. Singing is my gift, my joy, my passion. The only time I'm a worthwhile human being is when I'm singing. I love it. No matter if I'm singing on stage or to myself. Music equals life, life equals music.

I don't get hired enough. People are looking now a days for rappers, tone deaf underage girls dressed like hookers, and heavy metal bands. They're not looking for someone who can do things like Music Of The Night or Stormy Weather. They want people who are loud, hip, even if they can't sing a note. They don't want people who look like they actually enjoy the singing, but rather look like they'd enjoy getting on their knees and reenacting some porn movie scenes.

As I grow more dissatisfied with my own life, I find my stories contain me more and more.
Overweight women who can sing. Once upon a time I wrote stories about people of a variety of ethnic groups, religious beliefs or lack thereof, shapes, sizes, genders. Now all the main women are fat, short, musically gifted, and white. Be it a fan fiction or original, they grow more and more into Mary Sues. Check out my stories on the Fan Fiction dot net website. Same user name as Fiction Press. There is one I flat out call Star Trek: The Mary Sue. I physically put myself in a Star Trek: The Next Generation story. My Enterprise fan fiction revolves around an Augment who's overweight. It's very poorly written, but I wanted to write something involving Soong.

Look at my stories here now. You can get an idea of what actor I had a crush on at the time I wrote some of them. Alan Rickman. If you look at the stories you'll recognized him. The large nose, the crooked lower teeth, and of course the British accent.

I wrote another one recently with my current crush as the basis - Barry Manilow.

Side note for those who are going to say he's gay. Um, WRONG! He's been in a relationship,
sexual and otherwise, with a WOMAN named Linda Allen for over 30 years. He admits to cheating on her - with OTHER WOMEN, including Diane Shur - I hope I spelled her last name right. He was married once, but the marriage fell apart and now he doesn't believe in marriage.
Just because a man is artistically creative does not make him gay. You'd think in this day and again when people seem to compete to show how open minded they are, they wouldn't be so inclined to stereotype.

So now that we've established he's not a homosexual, let's go back to this story I wrote.

As I said, Barry Manilow is the basis for the character in my latest fictional story. I haven't put it up on Fiction Press because, while the scene isn't highly described, there is a sex scene in there.
I don't know if I can get away with it here. Anyway, the story sucks. But as far as I'm concerned all my writing sucks. So I might be wrong. It might actually be good.

Manilow is mainly the physical basis of the character. As I don't know his private life personality. The character of Daniel is still, like Manilow, 3/4ths of Jewish descent, 1/4th of Irish. Only Daniel is a composer and arranger, not a singer. (He does sing twice in the story,
however.) His father was in part of his childhood, though the mother packs them both up and leaves - Barry Manilow only saw his twice that I know of, once to give him a birthday gift, one more time after a concert to say he was proud of him.

The main female character, Emily, is pretty much all me though. Fat, self esteem issues that causes her to break up with Daniel, from California, and she can sing.

And I set the story in New York. I know nothing about New York. I was there once when I was 18 for about 5 hours before we went on to Boston. Dad got us lost in Harlem. All I can really remember is almost getting hit by a taxi, seeing a bunch of stripped cars, and a blond hooker walking around in a black miniskirt. Everything I know about New York comes from books and tv shows like Law & Order. Why did I have to set it in New York? I know England better then I know New York.

I think it's because I want to be there. Everyone keeps telling me to move there if I want to be a singer. That they'll appreciate me there, even if I am fat, more then they do in California.

But I'm afraid! In 29 years I've never lived separate from my parents. I don't know what it's like to live in an apartment, take care of myself. When I'm left alone at night I have a hard time sleeping due to the lack of noise. Anyway, mom's back is getting worse and worse. She doesn't drive anymore either. And dad is terrible at anticipating her needs, helping her, and I'm much better at pushing her wheelchair then he is. If I left, who'd take care of mom?

Sometimes I think what I really need is someone to come along who is a combination of Erik from The Phantom Of The Opera and Professor Henry Higgins from Pygmalion. With maybe a dash of Aslan from The Chronicles Of Narnia. Someone who'll say, "Okay, you're coming with me. I'm not giving you a choice. You're going to learn to do this, this, and this. I'm going to do this, this, and this to get you on the road to doing what you want - making a comfortable living singing. No amount of whining, pouting, complaining, or procrastinating will stop me from this.
I will MAKE you do these things. Like it or not."

I wish someone would do that.

I wish that someone was Barry Manilow.

Though I'd "settle" for past crush, Michael Crawford.

Because I'm too much of a coward to do it on my own. Same as I'm too much of a coward to edit my stories.

I don't know if I can post that one I mentioned. I'm afraid the sex scene, as bare bones as it is,
will get my account deleted. It's more R-rated then anything, but it's still there and I'm afraid.

Anyway, I'm not a writer. I'm a singer. Writing brings me no pleasure, no joy. It just brings me -
relief.