So today I had one of those challenging moments in which I realized I had not posted anything in quite some time and it made me wonder what kind of author I am. Am I one of those authors that doesn’t see immediate success and then immediately decides that maybe I should just quit the whole thing? There is so much crippling doubt with being a writer, one must wonder why anyone on planet Earth would put themselves through such a thing.
Why do I do it? Why do I write blogs and poems and short stories, and novels (yes novels how can you not know this by now?!)? What do I get out of it? Who am I doing this for, and does anybody really care at all? The only way I can explain the whole thing is like this: imagine for just a moment you had a tiny little person that sat on your shoulder and everyday they kept up a non stop stream of chatter about all the things you could be writing at that particular moment. It sounds like insanity no? Imagine for just a moment that you were drinking your morning coffee and or taking your morning dump and in mid motion the voice chimed in and said “write something damn it, it’s what you’re made for!”. Would you listen?
I have to believe that this little voice doesn’t just happen to everyone…I WANT to believe that this little voice doesn’t just happen to anyone. I can tell you now that trying to get rid of the voice does not work. It sticks with you and the longer you ignore it, the guiltier you feel. I have words and words for days that I want to share with others but that need for approval is so strong I tell ya! In life, in science there is always supposed to be a reason why. There is a purpose, a goal, or a function to everything we do but with writing, at least in my case, the only purpose is to shut up the little voice.
So here you go little voice. Another year of life, another year of trying to be successful at the only passion I’ve ever had. I hope that you are looking forward to everything that comes after this. Oh, and happy new year.