Being Precious

If the world were perfect, this is what I’d look out upon from my writing desk.

In reality, it’s more like this:

Waiting for things to become perfect before I write would mean waiting forever. The myth of that perfect time and place being out there is one that we writers often delude ourselves with. I know, because I do it all the time. In reality its just another way of putting off getting down to work. Because writing is hard work and none of us like hard work, do we?

I used to think that I couldn’t possibly write anything meaningful until I was older. The age at which I would suddenly blossom into the next Vonnegut or Banks was always unspecified. My best option was to wait until I got there and then start writing otherwise what I wrote was bound to be rubbish.

I was, of course, deluding myself. Don’t make the same mistake. Nor should you ever feel that life has passed you by and that starting now will be too late. These are only excuses for not writing so don’t be taken in.

We are writers. We have to write in order to live our lives the way we are meant to. It doesn’t matter one jot whether we are critically acclaimed or even read and enjoyed. These are bonuses that few of us are blessed with. What matters is that feeling we get when we’ve written something.

Off you go. Get writing. Don’t let me distract you.

photo credit: Sunset via photopin (license)

photo credit: ‘Rainy Streets’, United States, New York, New York City, East Village via photopin (license)

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