Hello, the writer here, taking a moment to step from behind the curtain. I promised myself some years ago I’d be a published author by the time I turned 45 and here is that day and no I am not, for a variety of reasons that can be reducted to “I’m not pushing the issue.”
I’m less upset about this turn of the screw than I imagined I would be; probably because it was clear months ago that it wasn’t going to happen and I’ve had plenty of time to assimilate my disappointment.
I’d still like to see my name in print. I’m hardly giving up. These small sketches of life on the commute will make a fun self-published project. Maybe that’s not NYT best-selling but if I can convince my family, friends, and pets to purchase a copy I’d be satisfied.
Writing is weird work. It’s very insular while creating and very exposed when it’s flung into the world. I’ve been asked many times why I wrote a certain phrase or idea. I try to give an honest answer even when this may reveal more about myself than I’m comfortable with exposing. This may not be the best strategy. I tend to believe we are all creators even if we don’t think we are and tearing down the mysterious process isn’t a bad thing. I believe if more people wrote thery would achieve a greater understanding of their own consciousness. Perhaps in doing this they would learn to treat each other with kindness and compassion instead of hate and fear.
Life is short, life is long, life is what you make of it. Be nice. Play hard. Try to think it through before you act and react. Be creative and have fun. We have a gift the other mammals don’t share, don’t squander it on generating new ways to justify hatred and misery. Treat children with love and respect as they are a reflection of us. Open your mind to new ideas. Push the limits of what you know or think you know. Stand against those who would hold us down for surely we deserve better.
As always, keep the flame alive. Dare to dream and by dreaming, design a world worthy of your dreams.