To Be or Not to Be… a Writer
I am not a writer.
Today I was reading a book called “Crafting the Personal Essay” by Dinty W Moore and in it he wrote some lines about being a writer.
“… loving the work of writing itself. If you don’t truly enjoy moving words and sentences around on the page.. or carefully crafting the perfect scene..”
I have taken this a little out of context, but it is descriptive of the way published writers describe their work, the love of language itself, the joy of writing for the sheer pleasure of putting words together, but I am not a writer.
I have thoughts in my head that may swirl around for an hour or a week – where connections occur, and sentences come together, and I then sit at my computer and put them down. I check for spelling and grammar and maybe revise a little as I go for the sake of coherence, and then I post it, but it is not a perfectly crafted piece of literary brilliance.
I love to read well written books, and I thoroughly enjoy the well crafted speeches, full of colour and metaphor that my friend Paul writes, and wonder sometimes if I could, with practise and perseverance do as well. I have so many thoughts, interests, work, family and life to live that I just want to get it done, get the words on paper or the computer screen. I write to get the ideas out, not to play with the words and style of how I get it out, so I am not a writer.
I have no grace or elegance, no flowery phrase or brilliant literary style, I think, I write, I get it out of my head..
But I am not a writer.