Ego

Now I'm not one to toot my own horn, particularly. On that note, "tooting" one's own horn just doesn't sound right to me. If anything, horns "honk" rather than "toot". To say that horns "toot" is like saying serial killers just like playing "Morgue". Gotten away from myself again. I don't honk very often, but I feel justified in doing this since I'm, you know, human.

Human beings are naturally ego-centric. I don't mean that in the sense that we're all arrogant and don't care for anyone else as long as we live. 'Ego' is the Latin word for the self - quite literally, 'I'. We can spend our lives saying we care about other people but in all honesty, it's our actual nature of being that means we really care about ourselves more. Sure we can look after others who are perhaps less fortunate than ourselves or take on board the differing opinions of others and see certain situations through their eyes, but before all that, we come first.

It is because of this that I've decided to keep this one short. I've been writing and submitting far too much this week, even to the point where I was told to stop and leave them alone now. Let's back up a shred, shall we?

Some time ago (don't ask me how long exactly, time's become one continuous blur of internet, television and sub-consciousness), I happened upon the Top Ten Of Interest. Sounding like a vague obscure reference to Futurama, my curiosity was obviously roused. People write amusing top ten lists of stuff and then send them in. Writing opportunities. Yay. I figured I could do that too, except I got halfway through my top ten list, realised it was crap, got bored and started a completely different one that lasted over 4,000 words. That's more than any assignment I've stressed over during this entire year. I'm yet to hear back from those in charge; chances are they've succumbed to old age and possibly starvation if they didn't have a burger to hand at the start of it.

Today also just so happens to be National Flash Fiction Day and Twitter's going crazy with over three posts an hour on the subject. I ended up writing this for the cleverly (if a little ambiguously) titled journal FlashFlood. The journal said they were accepting up to three submissions from a single person, meaning I felt obliged to provide them with a second story which prompted them to tell me, in a politely written line, that I'd already had something accepted and to please leave them alone, but thanks all the same. Turns out they wouldn't have minded three submissions straight off and they'd pick the best one of yours to include. Oh well, ho-hum.

During the composition of this lot of words that nobody's really going to read, another thing by the name of Write-In is currently going on for the next couple of hours. Well, one would rightly assume you could write a 100-word story in less time it takes you to polish off that cuppa you just made. So yeah, why am I still doing this? Shut up and leave me alone! I can't care about you right now, I've got myself to think of!