A blessing and a curse, writing is. A blessing because of the beautiful joy it brings me; the taste of words; the melodious rhythm of prose; the rush of creating story from nothing. I adore it. It’s got a hold on me, and I’m never letting go. And yet–this, ultimately and ironically, is too its curse. Writing’s firm grip on me; its unwillingness to relinquish control, no matter the gloom it can cast, no matter the lack of wealth it can bring, no matter what. It’s impossible to leave. And yet life moves on. Life screams for bills to be paid. Somehow the world of writing struggles to pull its weight. It struggles to be recognized as necessary as accountants. As salesmen. So other work must be done. Writing or not.
Without this struggle, would I fight as hard for goals to be met? For stories to be written? For writing to flow from me like breath? Perhaps not. While “a part time writer with full time aspirations” describes me in this moment, it also reminds me that the battle is worth it. Write. Because I don’t have a choice. Write. Because it’s my blessing. Write. No matter the other work. Write. To live. It’s as necessary as breathing.