I write because I am a writer.

I am a WriterSometimes a man just has to do speak to himself, to run things through his mind, to think things out. He might reflect about things like should I consider changing jobs, ask her out (if he’s single and she’s single), consider starting  an exercise program or investing in continuing education. It helps if you have a friend or spouse that will let you talk it out, but if not, I guess this is about the next best thing.

The last few days I’ve been thinking about my passion of writing. I have been writing since I was in high school when Lyndon Baines Johnson was president of the United States. I had my first professional writing sale in 1981. I’ve been writing a long time. Even though I’ve never published a book I have published a short story, poetry, and dozens of non-fiction articles. I have dozens of paid writing credits. I am a writer. I even have a short story that will be in next Tuesday’s issue of Bewildering Stories.

I remind myself of the these credits where I don’t let an agent, editor, publisher, writing group or friend get me down. I am not the reason they are having a bad day, don’t need what I wrote, or don’t like what I am writing. They are not the reason my writing sucks, story isn’t interesting or good enough. Sometimes I need to man up, work harder, and not be so tough on myself. Only my mother will say she likes everything I write and she has to because she’s my mother.I have to remind myself that sometimes the timing is off, sometimes the market isn’t right, sometimes ….

I need to do what I always do when rejected … cry, scream, think how dumb they are … take a deep breath and get back to reality. Continue writing and continue submitting … just maybe the next one will need what I’m writing, won’t have a client they represent who has written something similar and just maybe my writing will continue getting better.

I write because I am a writer. Writing is what we do.

2 thoughts on “I write because I am a writer.

  1. We writers are a strange brood. I believe the internet is both a blessing and curse. While this medium definitely has been a huge benefit for being published and interacting with people of common interests, etc. it is often a catalyst in questioning our own abilities and measuring up when we see other’s succeed. I asked myself a long time ago, will I still have the passion to write if all the magazines closed up shop and the internet was no longer in existence. Of course, I said yes because being published does not define me as a writer even though I am immensely grateful for my accomplishments. I call myself a voyeur of words. Just the mere motion of pen making love to paper and conceiving something I made is still the greatest gift even if no one sees or appreciates it.

    “I write because I am a writer. Writing is what we do.” is a mighty fine apropos.

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