You don’t actually want to be a writer, you just want someone to notice you.
Someone to listen.
You can pay a therapist for this by the way. It’s pretty effective.
But if you do all or none of that and still write something down, anything at all (and I do mean anything), with or without anyone noticing, with wisdom or wreckless abandon, then, and only then, you’re a writer.
Congratulations. You’ve got the compulsion. Can’t stop, won’t stop.
I had a teacher in college who, after watching me nearly fall asleep in his 8am Friday class, asked me to stay after for a minute.
Why are you so tired?
I’m sorry, I do music outside of school, in a band, and we were playing late last night so I didn’t get much rest.
If you want to be in a band so much, why are you in this class at all? Why don’t you just drop out?
I don’t remember how I answered, but I thought of that exchange a lot. A lot a lot. Why didn’t I just drop out? I’m still thinking of it. Just a smallish older dude too – giving me the “you gonna bark all day lil doggie?” treatment.
It’s the famous John Boyd question, over and over again,
Do you want to be someone, OR do you want to do something?
You don’t want to be a writer. You want to write.
Done? Good. Now do it again, because that’s what writers do.
