Hello Reader. Yes, it's a weird title to have. Especially since The Last Airbender received a dismal 8% so far on Rotten Tomatoes, and a ridiculously low 20 score on Metacritic. But M. Night Shyamalan's absolute, aberrant, atrocious movie has reignited in me a rage I thought was long since dormant. And I think that is what has spurred on my lethargy.
This lethargy I'm referring to is the one that has plagued my novel for a long, long time. Yes, I've been working on it. Sporadically. But that's not good enough for someone who has high hopes, grand dreams. I stumbled upon this article, which outlines six ways a writer can become organized. The second hint towards an organized lifestyle is focus. I don't have that.
This is due in part to many factors, most of which are legitimate. The primary one is schooling. I'm trying to get an education in a field that is distinctly NOT artistic or literary. It's a hard task I've set myself. So it draws my attention away from writing. Nonetheless, I could still find time to write. And I don't.
I don't have focus. Plain and simple. And everything I've tried to give me focus - from turning off Kanye West and his cohorts, to downloading Internet-killing apps - has failed utterly. Save for my rage. Now, as you may or may not know by now, I've got another blog. It's about Islam, which is the religion I ascribe to. I'm a religious man, so I've done my best to educate myself. What I know is but a drop in the ocean of thought. Yet I believe firmly that this drop can cause ripples with great effect, forming tsunamis that can bring my beliefs and opinions in an enlightened way to others. I fight for this, madly like a dog. And this is because of my rage.
I have an immense amount of anger towards Muslims and the West for just plain screwing things up, ALL THE TIME. This anger and rage is directed and funneled through my words and into, hopefully, action through the blog. Both fuels focus me, hone me and drive me forward with unbridled passion.
I've lost a lot of that in my writing, in my depiction of Briok's life and legend. I don't have that fire anymore, that absolute passion to publish and let my written word be read by all that care. It's dissipated into passivity, relaxed and kneaded into submission to a fate of perpetual unpublished editing. The Last Airbender is slowly changing that.
I am so damn angry that a beautiful show, not cartoon, could have been so utterly messed up by a man who was once great. Now he's an arrogant prick, happy to chalk up his failures to "different accents". I've been begging Hollywood from afar to not screw up any more of what I find just plain awesome. But they continue to drop the ball, roll around in the mud, and expect me to pay 13 dollars for their feces. No longer!
And this is where the whole rage part comes in. Shyamalan has given me that focus, that passion, that fire behind my back propelling me forward. His failure, well I want to turn it into my success. Thus, I've begun writing an Airbender script. I have no clue how to do it, but my focus is taut. My anger is still burning from within, its outward spell casting a light upon whatever work I take upon. And hopefully this light will guide me towards some semblance of quality.
Most importantly though, I think this speaks to the irascible side of me. Which isn't necessarily a good thing. Actually, having a temper is never a good thing. But I am starting a concerted effort to stop lying to myself. So, yes, I do have a temper. And that fire that always keeps me hot, that bull I try to keep chained, has been let loose upon my fellow Muslims. It's what keeps me focused, what keeps my eyes on the goal of helping to change my people. This same fervor needs an outlet. It needs a funnel through which I can release. Finally, that funnel has been found for my writing. Thanks Shyamalan for being such a colossal screw up. The friendly neighborhood Afghan is coming after your legacy. I'm going to rip it apart, and leave in place a collective effort shining with quality. Because I know the secret to success: collaboration, you arrogant prick.
But most of all? Thanks for giving my hot ire, that rests in my soul all hours of the day and night, another place to fan its smoldering coal. Briok, you will be written. Your legend will be told. Until Next Time Then.