Young Writers Society

The odds of becoming a professional football player, (no matter what sport you call "football") is less than being struck by lightening. You are more likely to be mauled by a bear in New York City than make it big in theatre, and the odds favor choking on a ping-pong ball more than becoming a novelist. You are Fucked.
Which begs the question, what are you going to do with your life? Are you going to hold out and stick to your beliefs and starve to death in a Paris back alley? Are you going to sell out and have your work- your soul!- trampled on for a profit? Are you going to give up on yourself and quietly throw away your dreams for the suburbs of corporate America? Or are you going to throw everything you have into your art, heart, soul, blood, becoming so obsessed, such a diva, that your family and friends forsake you? You will need a lot of drugs to cover that kind of need. Maybe you to will make it big and join the 27 club.
Why bother having dreams? All they do is fuck you over. They crush your will to live with every step you make against them.
Hey! Drama geeks, art nerds, pencil pushing fuck jobs! Art is a popularity contest! What makes you think that the outside world will be any different than the fucked-up high school you grew up in?
How dare you think you can change the world? Who the hell are you anyway? Some stringy- armed little nerd boy with "big dreams" and a "Heart of gold." Yeah. That'll take you to the big leagues. Or are you some pudgy girl with pimples who everyone says has "Potential" Fuck your potential. Or are you a below-average-intelligence emo kid trying to get attention you don't deserve by cutting your wrists and writing bad poetry. Your right, you don't deserve your dreams.
No one does. You know what I think it is? When we were young, all the adults in our lives told us we could do anything. We could be anyone we wanted to be. They said this straight-faced as they cleaned up shit off their shirt. Our parents and teachers thought they were protecting us by telling us we could be who we want. What the really did was leave the dirty work of crushing our souls to the great big outside world. Instead of letting us know, in a controlled environment, that the world is a dangerous place. (As any mother goat would do) They sent us naked into the storm. And we call ourselves the "Peak of Evolution" and "God's chosen creatures." We are no better than worms.
Perhaps the only people who will make it in this rat-race are the ones who's parents didn't help us. And no, I'm not talking about how your parents didn't help buy you a car you poor baby, I'm talking about the girl who's mother was a prostitute and expected her daughter to follow in her footsteps. I'm talking about the two-year old boy with the cigarette burns, bounced around in the foster care system. And these poor souls are more likely to become serial killers than actors.
They, however, have one thing we don't. Perseverance. The ability to stick it out, be some body, when life doesn't throw lemons, it throws boulders.

Whoa. That was something. A lot of the 'f' bombs eh? Every paragraph had at least 2 uses of the word. I really liked it. It had a nice, tight structure and your flow is excellent. It really slips off your tongue fluently and I can really imagine the narrator talking to me over a cup of coffee in a cafe. It was really, really nice and very funny. May I borrow this? Nah just kidding. But seriously, I would love to see this developed in the future. It's very much like my style of writing. Keep it up

Why is this page from your diary being posted onto the Internet?

There is cathartic output and expression, and then there is getting mad and raging all over.

So you (the general audience) won't become the next Marquis de Sade? You won't be J.K. Rowling? Popularity contest there? Luck.

Listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZmQy1JUZ2c. Get SASS, get RESPECT, and fight for your right to be read, listened to, etc.

You can make the message of this to blame everything on the failings of the generation before....hmm what did your parents do for different reasons? Oh, and what are you doing for our posterity? The same thing. People have over-zealous dreams, sure; there's risk involved in everything.

Take a step back and re-examine what you've got here beyond pure emotion. It's not fitting in anyway for me to connect with your piece and appreciate anything beyond "angry rant".

I feel the need to state that it is this kind of logic that kills dreams.

Now, the cliche answer would be to respond with either a 'You can do whatever your heart wishes' or the opposite of 'yes, you're right', but neither will do. In all honesty, what you put forth is the thought process of someone who thinks they know how the world runs. And guess what? You don't. No one does.

I don't suspect you understand that when one fights hard enough, there are times where dreams are achieved. Raw talent is not likely passed by, and the ones who put the effort in are the ones who achieve. Just don't expect things to fall on your shoulders. You have to be willing to try.

Now, what I want to ask is if this is your opinion or if its all in the sake of a voice? Because opinion-wise, you are already dead. Life is not about achieving dreams. Its not about being somebody. Its about trying and dreaming and aspiring. Its about putting something out into the world that is completely you and if its rejected then so be it, but you did and you tried. Trying. Yes, that's exactly it. Tell you kids that they shouldn't try and they'll end up being the epitome of mediocrity. Give them the chance of hoping and if mediocrity is all they achieve then at least they know they tried.

We are writers. We are supposed to be the ones who have hopes and we create hope within ourselves and our work. That's why we do the things we do, but to say that dreaming is a lark that no one can afford is sick. We all have just as much chance of doing what our hearts tell us as anyone.

So if this is your opinion on life then let it stand. I've just never been the type to look at my glass as half-empty.

Actually I'll take back my last comment. So, this was...a rant? I must've misread. I thought this was going to be something in the style of something. But this is...a rant. Hmm. Trust me, I have had a good rant or two about life but I don't see why should just say dreams are crap and even by titling your rant "F*** You" is kind of like a slap to the face.

Hey! Drama geeks, art nerds, pencil pushing fuck jobs! Art is a popularity contest! What makes you think that the outside world will be any different than the fucked-up high school you grew up in?

A simple answer to that question: we are actually reading your post. Art is not a popularity contest. Since when did Art become a popularity contest. You just don't back your points up well enough.

Since when was life about dreams? A dream is a form of desire. It is a goal you try and meet. What you are saying basically is that dreams don't matter. Um, I think they do. Dreams are ambitious and- sometimes- impossible. But it's the starting point to achieving something. You know I once thought like you. I thought dreams were not enough. But I soon realised down the road that we need dreams, for better or for worse.

You're obviously angry. You're obviously mad at something. But take it out on someone else. To me, and I'm sorry to say this, I found this very miserable after a closer re-read. It may be personal to you, and you may find these comments completely missing the point, but for me I didn't find anything worthy of it. In order to be heard you need to earn respect. So far, and I'm sorry to tell you this, you haven't earned it yet. Why? Because of what you have written.