WHY CHOOSE TO BE A WRITER?
Do you think I chose to be a writer? No way.
If I could choose to become anything, do you honestly believe that I would select a calling that requires an unwavering faith in frustration, solitude and uncertainty, a calling that mandates isolation, introspection and seclusion?
Why would I do that when I could choose to be an astronaut, a football player, or a firefighter? Why would I do that when I could be a rock star instead? No, if I chose anything, I chose to let go. I chose liberation.
Do you think I chose to be a writer? No, ma’am.
If I could choose to do anything, why would I pursue a path marked by insecure soul-searching, bouts of unforgiving insights and an ongoing internal conflict that prevents me from making progress, securing potential and fulfilling goals?
Why would I want to become one with frustration, soul mates with solitude, and pen pals with pain? Why would I ever choose a life of anguish? No, if I chose anything, I chose to keep going. I chose dedication.
Do you think I chose to be a writer? No chance.
If I could choose to be anything, why would I possibly want to sit by myself, silently thinking, cursing, doubting and dreaming my whole damn mornings away? What reward could possibly justify voluntary seclusion within the dark and damp dungeons of my own mind?
What treasure could reasonably reward the cold-hearted diligence required to pursue this craft day in and day out, through all of the worry, word choices and wanderlust? No, if I chose anything, I chose to give in. I chose acceptance.
Do you think I chose to be a writer? No, sir.
If I could choose to pursue anything, why would I yearn for turmoil, strife and dissatisfaction?
Why would I choose to lust for the perfect adjective, crave the ideal verb, and long for that one true sentence, the one that burns with so much passion and perfection that my soul ignites, an unquenchable burn, a searing desire for more, more, more?
Why would I possibly choose to be a slave to my thoughts, a mere soapbox for ideas to stand upon, a complex outlet for the expression of simple truths? No, if I chose anything, I chose to push harder. I chose diligence.
Do you think I chose to be a writer? Yes.
I did. I have. I will. It all boils down to four easy decisions, four simple steps.
However, with these choices, I also chose life, and in choosing life, writing chose me.