Yeah, it’s been a strange few weeks. Strange. Hate strange. If you knew what I considered normal, you’d fear strange as well.
No, the next sentence is not ‘three weeks later’, but I did realize something after about 10 beers. I will not use my blog to bitch about being a writer.
I reread my 3000 word self-righteous ‘this is hard, pity me’ rant disguised as ‘advice for young writers’. It was filled with ‘think hard before committing to this life’ platitudes and I felt a fire well up in my soul that made my face blush red in shame.
No. This is not me. And you all deserve better.
Yes, it’s hard being a writer, but hell, it’s hard being a plumber. It’s hard being a musician, being a CEO, a cashier, being a survey person: these days it’s hard simply being, and I, who gets paid to write, who has a kick ass sci-fi novel out, I don’t have the right to bitch about how hard it is!
This is what I wanted. This is who I am. If I wanted an easy life, I’d do something that’s not challenging. I want to change the world. That’s why I write. Changing the world is not easy. I know that. I chose that. My choice.
Bitching about how hard it is belittles me, my art, my vocation, my raison d’être, and I apologize for even thinking about doing it.
We all know how hard it is. It is high time we stopped feeling guilty about it and started making others understand that if it weren’t hard, we’d be damn crappy writers.