Thursday, Sept. 16, 2004 - 12:18 P.M.

It�s no secret to anyone who knows me that one day I hope to be a published author. It is my dream. It�s been my dream for as far back as I can remember. I still have everything I�ve ever written; some small things date back as early as age seven. I have actual short stories I wrote from as far back as when I was nine. And, let me tell you, those are classics.

Though I have been writing in some format or another (i.e., short stories, poetry, diaries, journals, novellas, essays, etc.) for practically my entire life, I had still always subscribed to the theory that unless you make a living at writing, you can�t call yourself a writer. Well, folks, this past weekend I felt the blow of reality strike me as surely as if I had been physically hit with a piece of errant hurricane debris. But I�ll bet it�s not what you�re thinking.

I went to a bookstore this weekend to purchase the following books: Holidays On Ice/David Sedaris; A Rip In Heaven/Jeanine Cummins; After/Claire Tristram; Goat: A Memoir/Brad Land; The Book Of Joe/Jonathan Tropper; and, The Body of Jonah Boyd/David Leavitt. (I tell you the names of these books as I lurve to get opinions/comments from others who�ve read the books I�m currently into.) That�s a lot of books to look for, different genres and such, so I needed some assistance. While the clerk and I were circulating the store, seemingly on the hunt for the Holy Grail (not the best laid out store, yo), it occurred to me�

Have you ever been in a situation in which a moment of clarity presented itself to you so clearly? Arrived completely unbidden but oh, so welcome? Standing in this bookstore, amidst rows and rows of books, aisle after aisle of that smell (not that smell! If you�re a book lover, a bookstore lover in particular, you know the smell I�m talking about.), overcome by the sheer magnitude of words and thoughts put to paper surrounding me on all sides, I thought to myself, �I am a writer.�

I don�t want to sound all overly dramatic here but writing is my passion. It�s what I love. Writing and bookstores and Brad Pitt. Many people get excited when they buy new clothes or new electronic equipment or a new car. I get excited when I buy/receive new books. I�m a geek like that. I embraced my geekdom a long, long time ago. Like, around age seven when I was inside writing instead of outside playing.

No, I don�t make a living at it�yet. No, I haven�t submitted a book for publication, or even a query letter�yet. No, I haven�t seen my name on the binding of a hardback�yet. I�m hopeful those milestones are just down the road for me. I�m still finding my niche, my groove, my comfort zone. But, if I never realize those things, if my life is never highlighted with those accomplishments, does that make me less of a writer?

Not in my book.

You Give Me Fervor - Friday, Feb. 17, 2006
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Ebert And Roeper? Watch Your Backs. - Tuesday, Nov. 29, 2005
Coffee? Tea? Map? - Monday, Nov. 07, 2005

� Purplecigar

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