I have been forced to start a blog by two of the most stubborn characters I have ever had the pleasure to befriend. They have this hilariously adamant belief that I would do a good job at writing. I don’t have the heart to tell them that I don’t write as much as I Rant. But here is an attempt to put their souls to rest, hoping they find someone else to believe in with as much genuine care as they have for me.
We all get these little shoves towards what others think we are really good at. Well, just because we’re slightly better than them, accidentally, doesn’t mean that we’re a prodigy. But it does feel good to know that someone thinks you’re going to make it in a world where there’s more kryptonite than colored capes. I read somewhere that, “It is impossible to write 52 bad stories in a row,” so this is me proving them wrong but secretly wishing that they’re right.
This is a short story about a dog.
The fluffy, fawn furred, Leonberger hopped skipped and jumped towards the sad lonely pig. Then that adorable mutt, pounced on the pig, and just before the pig thought it was going to become bacon, the dog licked him all over and told him that he was vegetarian.
Does this story have a moral? No. Does it have an interesting approach? No. Do I have an unexpectedly mind-blowing little addition to give the story a sense of purpose? Not in the least.
But it’s a story nonetheless. And people have already just read it. Congratulations to me for my first audience.
Thank you and goodnight.
Also, be kind.