TumbleDweeeb

Ethical Echoes: #6

In his messy “writing space” (actually his mom’s garage), Dave Smith held his cheap pen (which he called “a gift from the muse”) and glared at his pile of rejected stories as if they were out to get him. “I used to send my work to publishers—fools who can’t grasp my style,” he told his bored goldfish, Hemingway, who swam in circles with his stack of homemade cards (“Word Genius, Future Prize Winner”). “But I’m so particular on how I want my words right now,” he said, twirling his pen until it flew into his cold noodles. “I’m very selective about everything at the moment!” His last poems had been used to prop open a door, but Dave was sure this was because “people fear real writing.” “I gave y’all time to get my deep thoughts!” he yelled at his toys set up like a fake writing group. “I’m focused now. About to go gorilla shit!” As he said this, he spilled his drink on his old laptop, throwing a fit while his mom called down asking if he’d started job hunting yet.

The Moral: Talent without discipline or self-awareness leads nowhere. Dave blames everyone but himself for his failures, making excuses while avoiding both honest feedback and the practical work needed for success. True writers write—they don’t just talk about writing or blame others for their lack of recognition.