In Biographical / Reflective, Essay

The other day a person referred to me as an aspiring writer. I thought about the term for a long while and have concluded that I am not an aspiring writer – I am a writer. Perhaps an aspiring novelist is more apropos. No, I am not paid for my work, yet. I give it away freely, my payment is my readers pleasure. However, receiving monetary compensation for my services does not legitimize my craft, it offers me piece of mind so that I may continue writing without fear of leading a destitute life.

No painter says “I am not an artist yet because I have never sold a piece.” They paint therefore they are. For me, it is about having a talent, then an outlet and finally people who take pleasure in the things I create. So if you are reading this post and you consider yourself an ‘aspiring writer’ while sitting long hours typing away at your broken down laptop, alone, as the world around you ceases to exist, don’t, because that’s is what writers do, they write. Aspiring writers do not write – they aspire.

 Writers give readers glimpses into their minds-eye through carefully woven words. Writers become wielders of magic, macabre, fantasies and unrequited love. With a subtle flick of their wrists, a new universe is born, worlds where their mastery controls every movement; a concept that never fails to place a smile on my face. Writing is my catharsis, a creation that influences my life and those who have chosen to join me on my imaginative journey.

So today’s post is an homage to those whose life voyage is setup to lead down a clearly defined path. Persons who are privileged enough to enjoy their innate gift and to those fortunate few who get to relish the fruits. I am appreciative with every intake of breath that I know wholeheartedly what it is I intend to spend the rest of my existence doing, creating. I may not be the best writer, in fact, I may be mediocre, but the beauty is not in the destination, but the road traveled. A road most will never discover for themselves, a road that may turn out to be bumpy and desolate, but a road I would never willfully choose to abandon.

Sara O'Connor
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