There is not an infinite number of words, so perhaps that limits the honesty of communication. It is only by using the imperfect tool of language that I can convey, more or less, what I am thinking or feeling to someone else.

Maybe there are things for which there are no words. Maybe I lack the knowledge or skill to choose the right words to express myself.

I think that punctuation is the only spontaneous part of my writing, the only way I can express anything that isn't premeditated and composed and purely for the show. It's so important, punctuation. It's the written equivalent of emphasis – you can change the entire meaning of a sentence by punctuating it differently. Hello? Hello. Hello! Hello… Hello… hell no. (I really hate Smells Like Teen Spirit. Lithium is better.)

The idea of references is so strange to me. It's a soft form of plagiarism, but it confers an air of intelligence and worldliness on the writer rather than emphasizing how lazy it is to use other people's words rather than your own.

One of my teachers told me that humans value literature that reflects reality, that the question "Is this like real life?" is what defines the quality or relevance of a text. I agree. It's why I'm in awe of Toni Morrison and Timothy Findley, after all. Vonnegut too. Their literature captures the ugliness of reality.

I wonder if I can ever be a great author, since I feel like my writing is so goddamn insincere. Even when I'm writing in this format, a rant, where I'm not worrying about structure and I'm just writing what I’m thinking, I know that I'm still correcting, editing, creating repetitions, trying to make this more of a pleasure to read and therefore less honest.