A WRITER'S LIFE IS NOT EASY

             
                                             

                                A WRITER'S LIFE IS NOT EASY
                                                         

It's not easy being a writer.

You have to get readers to look at your stuff. Then you have to put up with their conclusions like.
“I don't like the beginning.”or “I don't like the ending.” or “ Just what are you trying to say here?”
or “ People wouldn't really do that, would they?”

So you run and revise the beginning, while you're at it you change the ending, you make the whole thing seem clear and realistic and then it's done. Just like everyone else wants it to be. Finally in disgust you throw it all in the wastebasket. “Writing stinks.”

Then you get another idea. One that will turn you useless life around, but it doesn't. You go through the process again day after miserable day until the 'writing disease' gets the better of you. Your wife calls 911 and they take you away. The last thing you see are your kids waving goodbye from the living room window, vowing they will never make the mistake of becoming writers.

Sure we get accolades when we write something brilliant, but how often is that? Now don't get me wrong, everything I write is brilliant, in my mind. The problem is other people. They read my well drafted short story and they then comment “ Not bad.” Now that just does not in my opinion do justice to my work, I equate 'not bad' with ' not very good' so what are they telling me? I think that the world is not yet ready for a writer like me. I have to keep my stories from being released to the public until such time as my genius can be appreciated. Like Van Gogh, I will not get recognition in my lifetime.

The real problem, I fear is that people are just plain jealous that I write so well and flawlessly. By looking at me you would think “ That joker can hardly spell, much less write, look at his punctuation, his spacing is all wrong. What a sloppy guy. What in the hell is he wasting the few short years he has left, trying to write?”

Now I don't consider my writing a waste. While I am writing, other normal folk are out in the garden getting U V rays by the  hour, whereas I am safe inside, my skin protected by sunblock just in case a UV ray comes anywhere near me.

Others go jogging, now there is a waste, what does jogging do? It just makes you wants to jog some more, so day after day you jog here, you jog there and pretty soon you are too busy jogging to get down to writing. On occasion however some joggers, while they are recovering from knee and hip operations do begin writing.

Others say they can't write because they experience ' writer's block.' There is no such thing, put it out of your mind completely or you will just scare yourself. Did you ever hear of anyone getting in a car and saying, “I've got 'driver's block' I can't do it”. Or a chef who is contemplating scrambling three eggs saying “ I have 'scrambler's block,' I've never scrambled more that two eggs before,I can't do this.”
Then there is the garage employee who puts air in  tires, gets stressed out and has to take sick leave because he has an ' air pressure block'.

Then as a writer you also have to contend with your spouse's attitude, she of course thinks there are more productive ways to spend your time.

What kind of man are you?”she asks twice a week.

“The same one you married 25 years ago.” I keep replying

“You didn't tell me you wrote. You kept it well hidden from me, thinking I wouldn't find out didn't you? Well Buster,I have found out, and don't think, for one moment, I'm going to let you keep on writing.”

“ I am a writer, a very good writer.”Hoping it happens some day.

“ According to who? Your mother ? All she reads is her cook book by day and her bible by night. That doesn't make her an authority on writing or you a writer. If you sell anything in your lifetime, I will drop dead from surprise.”

“ Now that's not a bad idea.” I mumbled to myself, but chose instead to answer. “ But dear I'm gifted.”

“ Gifted, a horse's ass is  gifted. Furthermore, you can grow flowers with manure. I'm telling you, keep pushing me and I will end up in the looney bin. Maybe you would like to write about that? I'm sure your mother would enjoy reading about how you drove me crazy.”

“You're not crazy.”I said in a quite tone trying to defuse the situation.” I just need to be inspired.”

“Inspired? Well then take those rejection slips out of your waste basket, sit on them, light them and see if that provides you with inspiration. Maybe you'll get so inspired the lawn will get mowed." She marches out of the room.

Now am I supposed to be in an upbeat frame of mind, ready to write, after an verbal altercation like that?

Now excuse me, for a few hours. I have to get back to my writing.