In my heart I think of myself as a writer above all else. To me, the definition is someone who must write. I’ve always felt that way. I also think of myself as an artist – and trust me allowing myself that designation, or hell, either for that matter, took a long time – and if someone said right now, you must choose between writing and making things/art, it would be like deciding between children. But I think I’d have to choose writing. If I have anything resembling a vocation, a calling, it is this.
I’ve earned some money, a little, from writing along the way. Certainly never reached the level of a livelihood. It’s mild consolation that few do. I was once offered a full time job writing for a government agency. It would be have been dull as dirt and involve spending my days in a cubicle in an office. That would be kind of like putting a wild animal in a cubicle in an office. I’ve run free too long. Some people would likely say, “Oh, take the job, it’s a good living and you can do your personal writing on the side.” Ha ha. Yeah, I don’t think so, it would never work that way, not for the likes of me. (On a side note, after I politely declined the government job I later received a standard rejection letter as if I hadn’t said no first. That’s not the only time that’s happened to me either. “You can’t say you don’t want us! We don’t want you, take that, Cupcake!”)
My fantasy has pretty much run like this: somebody or some outfit comes long, recognizes the brilliance of my writing and says, “We want to pay you to write whatever you want.” Um, that hasn’t happened. To be fair I’m not trying all that hard to make it happen, or at least haven’t in a good while but I never really doubted I have talent, not in this area. That said, I’m getting a little long in the tooth. A little old to keep harboring fantasies like this one. Yet I’ve been hesitant to join the blogging masses, to be just another set of typing hands (like that? It’s my play on “talking heads”) for a number of reasons.
Am I getting to the party too late? Maybe. And yet, I am certain I have something to say. I’m old enough now to have experience, a few smarts, and a point of view that was hard won. And I’m constantly honing my thinking, working things out, asking a whole hell of a lot of questions. This drive to write about these things, to share them, just won’t go away. The desire to put it “out there” is profound, I can’t shake it. So: What am I waiting for?