Literary narcism

narcism

1.inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.

I do have a strange tendency to write posts that are very similar in nature to the posts of the past, and this is one of them. You won't find the old post on this blog. That was deleted some time ago, along with the rest of the blog.

Anyways, this post is about me. Me, the literary narcisist. Yes, I love my own writing, a little too much for comfort. I have this very disturbing tendency to go back to the stuff that I have written and reread them every so often. Not everything I write is considered worthy of a second reading, but the pieces I put effort into seem to draw me back again and again. Its like when you set out to building something and then bask in the glory of its completion.

In the past, I thought that it was just me trying to understand myself. I thought that I read my own work because they would help me figure out the motives behind my actions. I'm not so sure now. After reading again, I don't feel pensive and thoughtful. I just feel an immense sense of satisfaction.

I don't spend much time on front of the mirror, and I laugh quietly at those people who do. Which is why I feel that this is distressing enough to write about. Am I turning into something that I would hold in contempt if I were honest with myself?

Would I feel the same way if I weren't born in a country where people have a below average command of english and my writing would bore the pants off everyone who reads it? If english didn't define me in school, would I be in the same situation?

When I do read my own work, I always seemed surprised. At the end, I sometimes ask myself, "Wow. you wrote that?". I impress myself, and the very thought of that scares me.

Is it a bad thing? To me it is. Self obsessed people draw nothing but contempt from me, and if this problem were real, I'd be very uncomfortable with myself. In fact, I already am, and its bloody annoying.