I’m a writer.
I’m going to write a book. This book may never grace the shelves of my local (or any) Barnes & Noble. This book may never be read by anyone aside from my wife, mom and my great-grandchildren when they’re going through my storage shed.
But it will be written.
Because, you see, I’m a writer.
But here’s the rub: Writing takes time. It takes work. It takes a desire to roll up one’s sleeves and put in the energy necessary to push through the blocks, lack of creativity and the feeling of empty-brain.
But I’m a writer. I will do work. I will write, even when I don’t feel like it. Even when what I’m writing feels stupid, pointless or like the trash that lines the bottom of a McDonald’s dumpster – I will write.
What am I going to write? Who knows. I only know that my creation will be a work of fiction, perhaps targeted toward a younger generation. The book is still swimming around in my brain with small glimpses of plot, characters and settings bobbing to the surface, just out of reach and probably too slippery to even try to grasp. But they’re there, serving both as constant reminders of the work I have to do and the creative fuel I need to do it.
So, here we go. The adventure beings.
I am a writer.