Rosie | September 4th, 2008
I’m always amazed by the people and stories that open with a scene at age eight when they looked up at the sky and pointed at a plane and said, “See that plane? Someday I’m going to fly.” Of course the person grows up and flies airplanes.
Me? I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Still. This permeates throughout everything I do. Jack of all trades, master of none. Joseph Campbell urged us to follow our bliss. Well, for me that would be reading. No laundry. No grocery shopping. No cooking, cleaning or any of the other sundry necessary duties of life. Just reading.
Uh yeah. I haven’t found a way to make that pay yet and if I do I’m not telling anyone. Since I never buy a lottery ticket I guess unforeseen good fortune isn’t going to rescue me either.
The truth is that on a day to day basis I’m one of the fortunate and blessed ones in life. I’m like George Bailey in IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. Sure there have been some real valleys in my life, but there’s also been an abundance of joy and happiness too.
About ten years ago in my never ending search for ‘my calling’ I decided I was going to try my hand at being a writer. I have a million ideas in my head. Some of them have even been plots in other people’s books. I can barely type that with a straight face, but I swear it’s true. I figured I had to be on the right track if someone else was writing the same story AND getting it published. So why not me? By that I mean, why not me be a writer?
First and foremost I wanted to be a really, really good writer. If it’s worth doing, well dang it, it’s worth doing right. Not having clue one where to start I took a writing class. All I can say about that experience is the teacher was more interested in his own writing and publishing career than teaching his students very much. I got an ‘A’ in the class which continues to amaze me years later since I was the student rolling her eyes in the back. I did learn something though. I’m NOT a writer. Well, I’m not a writer of books anyway.
But Rosie, you might be thinking, if the teacher was a washout how could you come to that conclusion? Well, I realized I lacked the discipline and focus it takes to keep my butt in the chair and write. I want to read. Remember my bliss? Yeah. Reading is my bliss. I think. Maybe.
See why I have trouble?
Anyway, my point is that I want to read and talk about OTHER people’s books, not my own. Heck, I started a blog so I could write about and discuss other people’s books. That not-so-great writing class helped me figure that out. I can’t tell you how liberating this was. I don’t have to write a book before I die. Whew! What a relief. Guess what else? No one cares! Isn’t that great? No one cares whether I do or don’t write a book. This was fantastic news. Just remembering this epiphany makes me want to get out of my chair and dance a jig.
The better news was coming away with a greater appreciation for people who do write. I’ll be the first one to raise their hand and admit I can never completely totally trash a book in a review. I might not like it. I might not like it A LOT. However I have a great deal of respect for anyone who gets it done. How can you not admire and appreciate the time, effort, energy and creative process it takes to write a book? The fact that an author survives the writing, editing, promoting and publishing of their book deserves some consideration and respect. At least I think so.
So I guess I’m stuck with my identity crisis and am liberated from one more of my life’s expectations. On the other hand, I am not without curiosity and questions for you. I often think behind every avid reader is a writer waiting to be born.
Have you ever thought about writing a book? When you talk about books do you ever re-write parts to suit you? If you wrote a book what would it be about?
