Just finished watching "Field of Dreams" for the umpteenth million time - one of my all-time favorite films. I was fascinated by the character of Terence Mann (James Earl Jones). As a writer I was fascinated by his status within the film, as a former Pulitzer winner who had not written for years. At the end of the film, he talks about writing the story of ". . . Shoeless Joe Jackson comes to Iowa." When Kevin Cosner expresses surprise he laughs and says: " . . . it's what I do." That struck me as a particularly apt summation of all writers.
Some of us are famous, some are wealthy, some are mid-list hacks (just kidding!) and others, like myself, are complete unknowns with nothing more than hope and a dream but we all share one thing: we write. It's what we do. We do it every day, terrified that there is no point in it. We struggle in front of the screen (or the notepad) trying like hell to convince ourselves that there is talent, and importance, and destiny in what we're doing while all the while the voice in our head laughs at our pathetic arrogance. Are we good enough? Is there truly talent there, or just the dream? There are countless with the latter and not the former.How do you tell which you are? It's some very scary stuff.
You are setting your own inner self on a page, giving each sentence every bit of skill and heart that you have and in the end: who knows? Will you produce the next "Grapes of Wrath", or will it become a running family joke before it's used to start a blaze in the fireplace? I am terrified each time I sit down to write and I imagine most everyone else who does it is too. Maybe even the Uber-Writers like King, Grisham, and Jordan. There are days I swear I'm going to just give up and stick to the day job instead of wasting time in front of this damn computer that I should be spending working on my house, playing with my son, or talking with the wife. I look at the mirror and ask what the hell am I doing this for? The answer is always the same . . .
"It's what I do,"
Later!
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