Being a writer.

I’ve often said that there are mainly two types of writers: the ones that want to write and the ones that have to write.

You ever meet someone who finds out that you write and often say something like, “Oh yeah? You know, I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”

Then why don’t you? That’s the person who wants to be a writer, but doesn’t really have it in their blood.

Now, you ever meet those people that always have a pen and paper present? Or they are always ready to go home whenever they go somewhere? Or, perhaps they take their laptop with them everywhere they go? Maybe they get irritable when they are kept away from writing. You ever know a person who sacrifices sleeping and eating (even going to the bathroom) in order to pound out all those ideas they have in their heads?

Those are the people that have to be writers.

Only those of us who have to be writers understand that pain. You feel cheated or somehow vacant while you’re at work, missing out on putting down all those good ideas you’re having. You walk around in everyday life and write in your head–you do it in your sleep, or in the shower. All day your thoughts drift back to your stories and you think you’ll either go insane or your head will bust if you can’t get it down or are unable to breathe life into every idea that you have.

You know how that feels? It is both painful and liberating. Punching out words on the keyboard or nearly breaking your wrist furiously scribbling down everything you can think of in penmanship that is harder to read than Hieroglyphics makes you feel like you’re floating on the sea, doing what you’re meant to do. It’s as if the Creator is looking down on you, glad that you are doing what He put you on the Earth for. Whether or not that is true doesn’t matter. It’s in your heart.

My goal one day is to be able to write for a living. That’s what I want to do. There is no other option. There is either be a storyteller or always chase that path. Nothing else I ever do will be enough, nor will it matter, as far as career. Until I am creating people, places, events, tragedies, triumphs, pain, pleasure, love, hate, birth, death, disorder, harmony, Utopia, Dystopia, and whatever else my wild mind can conceive, then I will never be where I am supposed to be and I’ll never feel at home.

Maybe one day. Maybe……

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