Great writing is not born from normal people 《This week's three-topic story announcement》

Writing becomes interesting once you can view your own "weird" parts objectively.

This is practically a law. It might be as certain as gravity. Just as apples fall, the writing of weird people doesn't fall—it bounces.

When you're young, you convince yourself, "I'm special," or "I have some kind of talent." No one tells you, "No, you're actually quite ordinary," and eventually, you realize: "Oh, I'm nobody."

From there, the feeling that "I'm just ordinary anyway" sinks in. You stop asking for, wanting, or wishing for anything. That's how you grow into an adult.

And most people put that version of themselves into a picture frame. They trim it neatly, fix a smile, and display it, saying, "This is me."

But you know, people whose writing becomes interesting are different somehow. They put everything into their manuscripts—the angle of their ears that didn't fit in the frame, the mole that insists on being noticed, and the impulse that makes them pump a swing with all their might every single time.

While thinking they are ordinary, they are also aware of their "differences from others" and the parts of themselves that are "a bit weird."

People who pump a swing too hard are generally weird. Alone in the park, they swing with more amplitude than necessary, cutting through the wind, gritting their teeth and thinking, "I can go higher."
Even though no one is competing.

That excess is what becomes a story.

Your weird parts are the fixations that make others wonder, "Why there?" Like always stirring your cafe au lait exactly three times. Or reading your reply email three times before sending it, only to add a typo on the fourth.

Usually, people hide their weirdness.
Because they want to be seen as normal.

But writing doesn't take the side of normal people. It places a hand on the shoulder of those who are just a little bit off.

Viewing your weird parts objectively is like staying on the swing while another version of you watches from the sandbox.

"Oh, they're pumping with all their might again."
"They're going higher than necessary."
"And no one is even watching."

This spiral structure gives writing depth.

The writing of people who aren't aware of their own weirdness is flat. It's straight, clean, but doesn't catch on anything.

On the other hand, the writing of people who can laugh at their own weirdness has edges. It brushes against the reader's finger. It makes them think, "Oh, I do that too."

Weirdness is not a defect.
When magnified, it becomes personality.

For example, someone who always has their eyes half-closed in group photos. People who can write, "For some reason, my timing never matches the shutter of life," instead of hiding that fact, are strong.

They dare to capture the moments that don't fit in the picture frame.

That is where humor is born.

Cafe au lait is neither coffee nor milk.
That half-heartedness is its charm.

People are the same. Not completely good, not completely weird. A subtle blend. An exquisite cloudiness.

If you filter that cloudiness out, your writing becomes water. It's transparent and tasteless.

People who can view their weird parts objectively present that cloudiness as it is. And they even point to it, saying, "Look, it's cloudy here."

The reader feels relieved. Oh, I wasn't the only one, they think.

Madness is not about being abnormal,
it is about excessively magnifying the everyday.

The self that pumps the swing too hard.
The self that doesn't fit in the picture frame.
The self that doesn't mix completely, like cafe au lait.

Look at these through a microscope and put them into words.

Objectivity is taking a step back and laughing with love.

People who can say, "I'm a bit weird, aren't I?" are strong. Because there's no need to hide anymore.

Writing without secrets is airy. And airy writing is usually interesting.

I want you to look for your own deviations. Record the amplitude of your swing. Magnify the parts that spill out of the picture frame. Observe how the foam of your cafe au lait collapses.

The moment you can view your "weirdness" objectively, your writing will finally start to laugh.

《This week's three-topic story》
1. Eye drops
2. Yakitori
3. Beware of falling rocks

Please use the hashtag
#ThursdayIsThreeDay
.

Anyone can participate.
The deadline is tentatively next Wednesday, March 4th.
It's okay if you're late.


#AfterSchoolWritingClub
[Image cooperation: Sachiwa]

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