I am a writer. I think, and believe, that if you are a writer, you were born a writer.
William Burroughs once said of Jack Kerouac that Jack Kerouac was the definition of a writer, that is, that he was, one who writes. That is to say, that in some way, in some part, he could not help but write. Yes, I’ve mentioned that quote and assessment, definition, before. There are those who understand exactly what I mean, that left to ones own devices without any other pressing matters, the kind of writer who will, or would, do nothing but write until they are done writing, until they’ve spent whatever steam they had for that moment, without regard for time, without notice of it, without thought for what will become of what they’re writing or what is it for, no, just give them a pen and some paper, or a keyboard, and get out of the way, they will go until they are done expressing the thing. There a lot of people who write books, and/or publish them, who are then authors, but they aren’t necessarily writers.
Sinclair Lewis said, “It’s impossible to discourage the real writers, they don’t give a damn what you say, they’re going to write.”
I don’t need to take photographs.
I don’t need to sew things, or to make handy crafts, or draw, or paint.
I don’t need to cook.
I like to garden, sometimes, sort of, maybe I just like spending some time outside.
I can do all those things, I’m even pretty good at some of them and, at least, proficient at others, but I don’t need to do them. I’m not going to start a photography business, or open a store to sell my art and craft-work, or open a restaurant, or become a horticulturalist. My dreams of being an Olympic athlete are long since behind me, no, don’t try to talk me back into it, I’ve moved on, it’s true. I’m not going to become an interior designer, or the next singing sensation. The world needs people to do and be all those things.
I am a writer.
I have to write. I’ve never not written. When I don’t write, even this much, I don’t feel right. I didn’t choose to be a writer, I’ve just always been one. I sometimes have thought about all the other things I could have been or might have liked to have become, but, those things are abstractions. Those things, I think, are like the astronaut who, from outer space, occasionally thinks, “Man, maybe it would have been cool to be a farmer, you know? Be about the Earth every day.” Or the doctor, who thinks it would have be cool had she become an Opera singer, that was the other dream, but it was not, at the end of the day, who she was. For me though, the thing is, the only time that any other thing really drew my interest, it was photography, and even at that, what I said was that it was something that I could do until I was at a place in my life again where I could really focus on my writing. I was never going to be anything other than a writer. I’ve never been anything other than a writer.
I’ve started work on a new novel. (I won’t say what this novel is.) For some people, a novel means years of work. For me, usually, writing a novel takes a few months to get a good first draft, though I’ve written forty-thousand word novellas in a matter of weeks. I’m writing though, and that’s it. When I’m done writing this book, then I’m going to write the next one, and the next one, and the next one.
Someone else told me today that they’re reading my vampire novel, The Slick Furies, and “loving it.” Well, that’s really nice to hear, that, is very encouraging.
I’ve got some good notebooks, some good pens, and a lot to do. I’ve written on paper towels before, coffee coasters, or the blank pages razored out of the end of a book, because like I said, I have to write, so it’s really nice to have some good notebooks handy.
I just felt like rambling some.