The courageous ones are the others. I write because I must. I’m not very good at it. But it takes me places into my soul where fear does not run the show. Fear is a bystander and unimportant. Fear is overwhelmed by its own fear. Such a freedom. That’s something you don’t give up to easy. Free from fear.
I have readers, believe it or not. Not many but some. I certainly know this because of the feedback. I get complements and complaints. The complaints are usually about my inability to proof my own work, which is true. I type slower than I think. In fact, I do everything slower than when I think. I think we all do.
So, when I write my soul moves much faster than my typing. Words get garbled. Not too bad, but it does happen. It is pointed out to me and I change it. It doesn’t bother me too much though.
I also get complements. People write in and say nice things. I know most of them. occasionally, I get a stranger. Someone I never met or heard of. That’s always nice.
Back to proofing and spelling, my favorite author, John Steinbeck, didn’t care either. He once replied to an editor complaining about his inability to spell, which apparently was legendary, that it was about the music.
“I hear the music, do you?” he said in reply to his editor’s complaints. He also apparently used a swear word which I would love to use because it explains the journey. But I’m not the courageous one, remember?
But I know this: You are not a writer or an author, you just put words down on paper because you’ve no choice. There in your head, rumbling around or in your heart, breaking. Just scrambling for the exit.
You don’t do this to gain anything. Well, the really good ones do. They actually get money, cash on the barrel head, and sometimes a lot of it. It’d be nice to have a lot of money, wouldn’t it? Or maybe just a little bit of money. I have this plaque that I keep over my fireplace and it reads:
All I ask is the chance to prove that money can make me HAPPY! (Editor’s uppercase and exclamation point).
Writing is not to gain anything other than the words are outside of your head and that makes for a simpler life. My empty head is a nice place to be. Lots of space to roam around. I am not a brain hoarder.
It’s amazing that anybody would be interested in my words except for the simple fact that as they read my words they become their words. The connection is made. That strange, human connection that alludes most of us for the duration of our short time on this planet.
One last thing and then I’ll shut up – thank God, right? – I don’t like know it alls. They seem to forget that the important lessons happen in life after “you know it all.” But I’m not the courageous one. Just the fella who can’t seem to stop typing.
Thanks for reading. Visit soon.