When you’re a writer . . . People look at you like you’re crazy. Any coworker, acquaintance, or stranger you tell your predilection to gets this strange look in their eye. Their brain has trouble processing. They don’t get it. They stare at you, blank.
“Oh. Do you make money from that?”
“Why do you do it then?”
When you’re a writer . . . People don’t really understand you. They don’t understand that, for you, writing isn’t a choice. It’s something that flows through you. It melts slowly – drip, drip, drip – out of your head and onto the page. You’re helpless to stop it; you couldn’t, even if you tried. Wherever you go, you carry around this need. You won’t be satisfied until every story that resides inside you is brought to life, one word at a time.
“What do you write?”
“Well, I write poetry and short stories. I’m also trying to write a novel. Plus, I have a blog.”
“What’s a blog?”
When you’re a writer . . . You feel embarrassed, stupid, and out of place. There are those who make you feel less than. They tell you you‘re wasting your time. People you meet will tell you, “You can’t make a living as a writer.” They tell you things you already know. It’s as if they’re looking down upon you. The life you lead, the extra time you put in at work, it doesn’t matter. You’re worthless. You’ve been shot down. You’ve shrunk. You feel like you’re sinking, like you’re gradually being eaten alive.
When you’re a writer . . . You have to ignore the negative comments and keep moving forward. This is you destiny. You need to remember to keep to your path. It doesn’t matter what other people say. The moment you pick up your pen or place the tips of your fingers on the keyboard, those pessimistic thoughts disappear. Writing makes you happy. That’s all that matters. Nothing and no one should keep you from achieving your dreams. Be proud. This is what you’re meant to do.