If I'm not eradicating emotional static here, the allure of this black zone softens and I find myself typing words and erasing them. Thoughts come forward, shake their head and move back into the recesses of my mind. And this is where I find myself early this morning.
Wanting to write, yet, devoid of direction. Writing about a sloven desire is hardly a remarkable topic, but in my world, half the battle is intention. The majority of the time I feel like the person that I am, and the person who desires a writing venue are two separate souls residing as cohabitants inside the complex apartment that is my mind. Sometimes we are at odds, rarely do we move in unison and frequently, one overrides desire in the other and claims victory. Seldom do these characteristics that embody me, sway hand in hand. Today is a forced compromise. The result is mundane banter.
Write. Writing. Writer.
I claim to write.
I admit I am prolific about writing.
I never claim to be a writer.
I'm saving the last claim for a succulent occasion worthy of the actual proclamation. I must observe the word 'writer' different from most. It seems, just about anyone can and does claim to be a writer these day. Especially with the advent of the Internet. I however, place my personal definition of writer on a pedestal and honor it's ambitious possibilities defined only by tangible achievement. Since I have not achieved or even approached my ambition, I'd rather people not lump me in same category of those that have.
I guess I write this slow and circling entry because someone within my circle placed me on the spot this weekend and proclaimed to masses I was a writer. It left me speechless and holding an empty explanation in the faces of grinning admiration (?). I understand it was an innocent compliment, however, in such a public atmosphere......it irritated the fuck out of me. If I don't claim it, why must others imply it or worse, proclaim it loudly?
I would like this.
Rebecca writes. A lot.
Enough said.
The Automatic Greeting
To Play Hard
Right With Inspiration
Without Words
The Eternal Eastern Compass
Randomness.......
About Me
- ~Rebecca Anne~
- Please visit me at my new location~~~ www.Provocationofmind.com
4 comments:
I understand all this. I even have on my profile 'sometimes writer' simply because there are so many elements to writing. I do however believe you and I are on the same page as to what we consider a writer to be...that elusive published claim. Having said that, I believe your talent outshines mine in the writing dept. So when does the book come out *winks*.
Yes, I know, I know...don't feed that thought process. I get it at least once a day and ask myself what the hell? Paul tells people I write, I keep telling him don't do that, I've nothing to show for it. It's in the same vein as stop telling people I'm Cherokee Paul. Why you are? Because it's embarrassing,do you know how many people have something, something part Cherokee in their family. Everyone! According to everyone you talk to. It makes those of us who actually do cringe. So yeah, being called a writer in this format is like that.
For me at times, the only hand I see in that dark space is the one that is rapidly writing away. (Hugs)Indigo
Ah, yes, I understand. When I say I am a writer, it is invariably followed by questions as to where I can be read, and I used to hold on to my meager list of published articles and almost produced screenplays for a sense of legitimacy.
Now I just proclaim it, because the truth is, paid or not, I spend an enormous amount of time writing. I think of all the many years so many published writers toiled away before they were published--were they any less "writers?"
So I will not impose that burden on you, this is a self-diagnosed disease. I will proffer this: You write beautifully.
You can also say, quite truthfully, "I'm a blogger." I often go that route. We tend to think, in the internet world, that everyone's a blogger, but most people aren't, and you don't have to take responsibility for what they project on to it, even an assumption that it pays the bills.
Rebecca Anne,
Yes, you write. i am honored that you share you thoughts with me and the rest of the world. You have a way with words that makes me comfortable to read them. That's a talent.
David
Post a Comment