Meth: a Ticking Timebomb Gone Viral

Let It Be

I didn't post on my blog yesterday. Not because I didn't have anything to say...far from it. It was because I had too much to say.

Last night, I began writing right here, but it soon became apparent that this was not going to be a blog post, but a static item. So, I finished the piece, copied and pasted it to create a new item, and deleted it from my blog. I then got a message from a friend, who offered to live chat and by the time we were done, it was getting late, and as I had to be up early to attend an appointment for a flu vaccine, I went to sleep.

In the morning, I arrived back from my appointment and checked my emails on WDC. There were none and just by chance, I thought I would check out the newsfeed. The first item on the newsfeed was for a competition...something I swore I would never do again after feeling so disappointed with the first and only writing comp I have entered on WDC. I worked so hard on that piece, and when it was judged not good enough (there were only two entrants in that particular category, mine and one other, and deserving or not, in my mind at least, my story came last). I am somewhat ashamed to admit that it had quite an effect on my moral...I suppose you could say that my ego was well and truly dented.

Looking back, this is part and parcel of entering a competition...we cannot all be winners and most will not win. I thought about how pieces of art get judged in the first place. If only one person judges, it comes down to a very narrow set of qualities that they, and they alone look for and like. Beauty is very much in the eyes of the beholder, and I tried my best not to feel down about the result, but it was in vain, and so, I resigned myself to never again subject my art to be judged in a competition. I was to be my own judge...if I work hard and am confident in my skills and imagination to tell a good story, then that should be enough for me.

The competition I saw on the newsfeed was to write from a prompt, and I almost went straight past it, but something drew me to the image. Immediately, the story began to form in my head and I KNEW at that moment that I was going to write this piece and enter.

As I always do, I allowed the story to tell itself. A jockey riding on the back of a beast, guiding it, but not defining its nature nor controlling its destiny. And at the end of the day, I had what I wanted...something I am proud of. It doesn't matter if it comes in first or last. I have a story that will live on long after I am gone and a body of work that I am proud of.

My fear was to again feel the disappointment of not winning, but what I learned from that loss far outweighs any joy or pride I would have felt if I had won. Life is a strange and sometimes cruel thing, but we can gain more from the knocks and what it throws at us if we have the right attitude. To understand and embrace that sometimes we get more from the failures of life than we do from the successes.

Of course, I hope that whoever reads my story gets enjoyment from it...but even if some don't think it is such a good piece, that's not the end of the world....and the only thing that really matters, is that I like it.