It’s been a little while since I’ve put a post together that speaks to the writer’s unique condition. I certainly haven’t spent much time thinking about it only than some occasion passing thoughts jotted down in my journal. At a certain point, there is this auto-pilot mode that slips over you when you’re a working writer. It doesn’t leave much time for really stopping to "smell the roses" or to take some time to be introspective about what it is that you’re doing. That’s changed for me lately, but I haven’t had the time to sit here and reflect as I write something about being a writer.
Lately, I’ve been having a bit of a mental conversation with myself. It ends up beginning with the question, "Am I a writer," or alternatively, "Are you a writer?" The mean is the same as are the questions and the deeper significance of it all. Maybe I get too introspective about this. I think the reason for this latest episode has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve published my first official book. While it is a co-authored effort, it is still an important milestone. I’ve said that before and I say it here now.
Any author would agree with that. Also, I’m sure many authors find that once they’ve published one, they’re chomping at the bit to do another. I know that I am ready for the next foray into authorship. More and more, this idea brings me back to my interest in fiction. I’ve already written a fantasy novel but am currently shopping around to editors/agents/publishers. Each book that I do has its own concerns and constraints. There are hopes and dreams attached to these projects. Right now I’m co-authoring a novel with a good friend of mine. It’s certainly fun to be writing fiction again,.
You would think the previous paragraph I just wrote would be enough evidence, but it seems I crave more…more validation I think. Oh, the author and his ego. It’s somewhat amusing to admit that much. It’s part of that inner conversation, I think. (You know what I’m talking about, right authors?)
I think it is about reassurances. At each milestone, I may stop and ponder. I’ll again ask myself the same question. Am I a writer? Obviously, the answer is yes..yes, I am a writer. I like author better, of course. There is a difference to me. That distinction may be a factor to that leads me to that question, that conversation.
I’m still freelancing. In fact, I’m doing better now as far as workload is concerned. (I have my friend Debbie Dragon to thank for that one.) I’ve been writing quite a bit today, but it’s been for clients, most of whom will claim ownership or at least leave the content uncredited so that poor ego of mine doesn’t get a proper pat on the head.
There is this chemical reaction in the brain when one sees their name on the cover of a book. Sure, I’m not doctor, it is more a guttural sensation than anything else. Yet, it’s there nonetheless. It is far better than what I’m currently doing as freelance writer. My mental conversation rushes through all of these steps in an instant. After it is through, I kind of sit quietly.
You know what though: I love it. I love writing. It’s the only thing I want to do while I’m inhabiting this planet. Time will tell, as it does with most things. Thanks for following along.
This is a cross-posting from Shaun C. Kilgore‘s site.