What do you want?

Last night I was having a typical scroll through social media when I stumbled upon a question that got me thinking a lot about my work. It was a simple enough post from a publishing group I follow, but it held a weight that I hadn’t let myself feel in quite some time. It asked “what is the biggest goal you want to achieve as a writer?”

You know, typical question people often ask writers, especially ones who are just jumping into the game. Most of the time we have a typical answer to go with it. I want to get my book published. I want to break through writers block. I want to write a bestseller. And, of course, those answers came to me, too. But my brain refused to stop there. As you all know, I love literature. I read almost constantly and have been having a very sordid affair with the greater world catalogue for my entire life. To say the written word is my passion would be a hopeless understatement. It is part of the very fabric of my being, as God meant it to be, and I love every minute of it. So could I really be satisfied with such generic answers to such a pregnant question? Of course not.

The ideas ran faster than ever as I sat down and really thought about it. What do I want out of my writing? What is my biggest and most hopeful goal? Sure, I want that bestseller. I want to have my book sold in local bookstores. I want people I know to see my book and be able to buy my work with memories of me in mind. I want to have unique and interesting books. But it goes so much deeper. After I thought about it the answer flowed easily. I want to be great.

I want people to feel my work. I want it to stand the test of time and change the world. I want to build on the face of literature like the greats of past generations and tear asunder the ideas of stagnance and convenience. I want, in essence, to be truly great. After all, if we cant be great, what’s the point?

This realization, although admittedly daunting, is also immensely liberating. I have, once again, come to terms with my purpose, my desire, the very reason I wake up in the morning. I will stop at nothing to achieve my goals and realize my dreams. They wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t make it happen, right? Right.

So the journey goes on. I’ve entered what I hope to be the final content edit for Maverip before I hit agents with my queries, and I’ve found my second wind. I will make it happen, and I’ll take you all along for the ride.

But now I want to know what you guys think. What does this question mean to you? Let’s not even just limit it to writing. I know some of you are painters, musicians, and artists of various caliber and medium, so apply it to yourself. What is the biggest thing you want from your craft? Is is an idea of greatness? Is it just to overcome that next big project? What are your goals? But more importantly, what are your dreams? Never limit yourself. Let yourself dream. But, I could speak on that for hours. In the meantime, let me know what you think, what you dream. Leave me comments or shoot me messages. And, no matter what comes up, never let your dreams die. Fight for them tooth and nail. I know I am.

My First Published Short Story

As promised, I have decided to post my first published short story to give you all an example of my writing style. I hope you enjoy it, and perhaps even find some inspiration from it. Feedback is, of course, welcome.

The End

By Damean Mathews


            “The system has failed you,” the professor said, raising his eyes to the mostly full classroom beyond the boundaries of his desk.


            “The government has failed. The militaries have destroyed all hope for survival. The world has begun its quickening decline from civilization and we don’t matter anymore. The battle will rage,” he spoke sternly while walking around his desk, “and we will cease to be of any importance.”


            His students stared, the usual low rumble of the incessantly distracted pupils now nonexistent. They didn’t know what to make of this speech. Their professor had never been this forward with them and they were a little unnerved by the sudden change.


            “The totalitarian form of government that has controlled the world under the guise of democracy has turned its back on us. The attitude toward citizens is now the age-old saying “every man for himself.” There is no fate that has been set supposedly, but this certainly seems to be the closest thing to fate I’ve ever seen, and the powers that be have chosen ours for us.”


            The professor stopped, rubbed his temples, and leaned back against the desk. He slowly picked up his water and drank deeply, savoring the chill as it ran through his body. He looked at his pupils through his thick glasses, and saw the faces of the next generation- Generation X- looking back at him in vague confusion.


            Standing, he spoke again, “You all have not experienced true betrayal yet, but it is coming. The world will slowly take back that which belongs to it. The wild which has been cut back will take back the hold it once had. As many people who have been born on this earth will not be enough to save it, or, for that matter, themselves.”


            “What are you saying sir,” one annoyed young lady asked.


            “That there is no hope for human kind. As a whole, we have almost no chance of survival in this matter. The big groups will be targeted, then the smaller ones. Individuals will be slain mercilessly. In effect, this will discourage life as a society, and as an individual, causing us to break all the bonds of civilization, and lose the will to live alone.”


            “Are you saying the world’s gonna end? So, what, like are we gonna be attacked or something,” interrupted a student.


            “I don’t know how it will come about, but it will happen. You see, every now and then Mother Nature just has to do something to show us that we aren’t what we think we are. We created the system to protect us in a hostile environment, so it makes sense that it be used against us. We think we own the Earth, and it is about time the Earth proves us wrong.”


            “So, you’re saying that the Earth is going to use our own defense system against us?”


            “No. The system is not something that can just be controlled, that’s what I’m saying. We have been treating it like a tool, thinking we have won, and that it’s all ours. Humans take advantage of all this. We will learn. The system will see to that.”


            He was met with silence after this stern speech. Slowly, as he stared intently into the crowd of pupils facing him, the murmur built up. Turning around, he walked back to his seat and resumed his work. The pupils continued the hushed conversations for the short remainder of the class, then gathered their things and left.


            Going home, a few of the students thought of their professor’s speech, wondering if there could be any truth to it. Sooner or later, however, all thought of the old man’s absurdity was driven from their minds. The evening rolled on into the night, and the students went about their lives as usual; either partying, studying, or sleeping.


            At midnight, the bombs began to fall. The System had won.