Writing and creating stories has always been part of who I am. I drew pictures in my books with crayons before I learned to read and write to “expand” on the stories my parents read me, and I’d often write additions or expansions on them once I did learn how to write. Nobody thought much of this and passed it off as me being a kid until my mother started teaching pre-school, and realized that no, not all kids do that. I was in middle school by then, and recall a humorous conversation she had with me and my brother trying to figure out if I drew a walrus or Jabba the Hut in one of my old books. I never have been much of an artist. We guessed it was a walrus. But when she asked “why did you do that?” all I knew to say was that I had more story to tell, and that’s the only way I could at that time.
Now I know that everybody doesn’t have worlds building in their mind, and they think it’s strange. To me, it’s strange to not have my mind wandering into the “what if’s” of potential reality. I guess I have a more expansive view of reality, and take more of a “big picture” approach to reality than most people do. I just don’t understand how people can live so confined to one, single reality, without wondering how life looks from different perspectives.
Most people are happy to graduate from school so they don’t have to write any more reports or papers. I get cranky if I’m not writing, which has been the case these past couple of weeks. We had a family reunion out of state last weekend, so I’ve been busy with preparing for that, going to it, and getting daily life “plugged in” to the normal routine again and haven’t had time to even work on a short story. And it shows, because I’ve been fighting that irritation all week. My motivation to plow through the “to do” list is to get my fingers on the keyboard again. I fully intend to start my final round of proofreads on Broken Time this weekend so I can get it submitted to the reviewers by the end of the month. It’s time to get back to it. No more distractions. No more excuses.
I am a writer. It’s as much a part of me as other people identify with their jobs, or accomplishments, or education, or memberships in clubs and associations. We are all multifaceted people, and all of our roles interconnect from a core purpose of the soul. Being a writer is the thing that weaves through all that I am. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes a person a writer. Not book sales, or success, or awards, or stories. It’s the inner drive that demands that you create.
How about you? What core purpose ties all things to your soul?
That’s all today. Take care. Have a Happy Friday tomorrow and a wonderful weekend.