I have friends who are writers. Almost all of them have other jobs, and most of them aren’t published. Writing, however, is what drives them. You can tell that about a writer.
Our society has condemned itself over and over again, and one of the ways in which it continues to do so is by blocking writers from publication. Even many of those “successful” in the art will say it was a matter of luck. They found the right person at the right time in a threadbare saga that nobody would publish these days.
Meanwhile, our society makes it increasingly difficult to get published and the real writers muddle through careers that are, in reality, just jobs.
I’m not talking about weekend warriors here—people who write on the spur of the moment and try to get attention for it. Writing is living for writers. People who have the immediate response of “I should write about that” to even the most mundane thing that can be made extraordinary with words. I applaud all the writers who keep at it.
Of course, some “successful” writers are very good. They produce work that inspires us to continue in our quest. Other “successful” writers simply know how to work the system.
Having a job often gives me ideas for fictional, and occasional non-fictional writing. Living a bit is important too. If there’s something I’m passionate about, though, it’s writing. I’m certainly not passionate about my job.
A person who spends his or her lunch hour writing blog posts or touching up the story they’re working on is not typical. You can tell, if you look close enough, that they are writers.
At one job I tried to get to know a girl. We had some things in common and I suspected she might be a writer. One day as I walked past her desk I saw the Nanowrimo website open. Although we never did get to talk, she was, I knew one of us.
We don’t have to learn how to be writers. It is what we are.
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