AND SO IT BEGINS TO EBB...

My abstracts have been repeatedly subjected to my boss's revisions. As a writer, I should have been furious by the fact that my work was touched. But on the contrary, I felt light. As if I really didn't care if I wrote abstracts deemed a bit shitty by others. I welcomed the criticisms and said hello to the changes.

Psychoanalyzing myself, this probably is the result of not liking my job too much. Yes, I do admit it has its perks. Not to mention it does look good on my list of credentials. But I don't think I am growing as a creative writer in this business. If anything, I'm becoming better as a summarizer, as an editor, as a corporate robot.

I do not claim to be the best writer in the planet. In fact, there are a lot of things I admit I do not know and will probably never know. What I have is what I write. Right now, I don't have much. That's why my writing's blah and I don't put words to paper as romantically and passionately as before. I wish for a change.

Maybe I should go back to school and re-learn the rudiments of creative writing. The rain has poured down on my too much, rusty is an understatement.