[ WP ] You are scrolling through r/WritingPrompts , when this very prompt catches your attention . Intrigued by it 's meta nature , you debate with yourself whether or not you 'll write about it .

r/WritingPrompts. Where it all began more than 6 months ago. A writer? Me? No. 
 
 
 Random firings of neurons somehow grouped together to focus my mind's attention on a Writing Prompt of all things. It was a mildly interesting topic: Aliens and humans, but the humans experience time much faster. Just reading the prompt triggered'caffeine' as the plot device, and before I knew it I had my first horrible story. 
 
 
 Driven by the rush of endorphins from every up vote I looked for other prompts to write. I killed Elon Musk ( he had it coming ), I killed God ( he had it coming too ), I brought iPhones to life, and I made Mrs. Claus a bartender at the North Pole. I had become a creator and destroyer of worlds. Nothing was beyond my powers. 
 
 
 But r/WritingPrompts was no longer enough, the prompts began to leave me wanting and my fingers did n't want to stop. So I searched the deepest, darkest corners of my imagination for a nugget of literary gold. What I found would control the next 4 months of my life: I found an idea for a book. A series of books. A brilliantly crafted story sure to withstand the test of time and critics. 
 
 
 How quickly the proud and boastful fall without talent and training to build on. I was not a writer! I had no idea what I was doing, and that amazing story I came up with had more holes and dead ends than a seedy 80's arcade filled with Whack-A-Moe machines. Nothing made sense, the story had no arcs, no clear antagonists, no deep themes, no reason why it should even be told. 
 
 
 Blind to the barriers ahead I wrote. And wrote. Every. Single. Day. 4 months of typing an average of 2,000 words a day. Story arcs? They're there now. Antagonists? Got some good ones. Themes? Oh, I've got themes. Big ones. My transformation into a writer was almost complete. Almost. 
 
 
 There's a story I heard once, from my father I think, about a young man who left his small-town home to explore the world. He traveled the globe and met many friends, a few enemies, and experienced life through the eyes of countless cultures. When he returned home his small-town friends asked him about his travels and he realized that in all his adventures he had forgotten why he had left in the first place: to find himself. 
 
 
 I never liked that story, yet there it is in a string of letters and words for all the world to see. That's why I decided to write this prompt: to share one paragraph of unfettered literary filth in an attempt to meet my word count for the day. I'm still not a writer, but I'm 473 words closer to becoming one.
