For as long as I could take myself seriously (which as it turns out may not be as long as I thought), I have wanted to be a writer. I probably have a romanticized view of what the life of a writer entails, but isn’t that what all writers-at-heart do? They fictionalize and idealize.
I do know that when I taught literature, I was torn in between the thrill of presenting a well-written book to my students and the frustration of never having written one myself. The voice inside at least seemed to be nudging me to try.
I am currently reworking my first work full work of fiction. Who knows where the process will lead but I feel more confident than ever that I am on the right track. When my buddy David Fernandez and I pitched our respective story lines at a PitchSlam in NYC in January, I think we both felt that regardless how surreal the experience seemed, we had taken an essential first step.
Writing is fun for me. Agonizingly fun, usually the result of painful or at least confusing experiences that detour me from my pivot points, but it’s ultimately enjoyable to express them on paper. I can’t speak for other creative individuals but I have always seen creativity as less of a blessing than a curse. I guess most things that are ultimately good for us appear that way.
I have reached a crossroads, creative and otherwise. I have realized over the last few weeks that I’m sort of at a now or never point with my writing. Either I continue to be overprotective of my written work, which is the window into my thought process, or I begin to share what enlightens me. In regards to this conflict, the teacher in me says “Just Go For It . Stop being so controlled and controlling.” The often cautious student in me says “What if people don’t like it?”
For once, I need to follow the teacherly advice I so often give.
Maybe some artists really just do art for themselves but every time I say that, I feel like a bullshitter. I do hope for an audience, and I hope you enjoy this and many more blogs to come