So, why do I think I want to be a writer, anyway?
It isn’t a matter of wanting to be a writer. All my life, I’ve been a writer. I think it’s safe to say I can communicate far better and far more easily through writing than through speaking to someone in person.
I just don’t have much to show for it.
I take that back. I have a long history of writing, having worked as a journalist for the past 27 years, the first 22 in newspapers, the last five in television. I write and I write and I write.
Just not what I want.
Well, that’s not entirely fair. I do like my job and I have written several things which have given me pride. But for the most part, I’m telling other people’s stories. Perhaps with my own style, but they are not my stories.
I would like to change that. I would like to bring the dozens of ideas that have been simmering below the surface to fruition.
And I admit, this short post is simply a way for me to satisfy my daily writing requirement. I think I’ve done that now, so now I have to get back to the business of life.
This habit-forming stuff is difficult.