Writer

WHO AM I? That question has rolled around in my head since what seems like the beginning of time. People love to ask, what do you want to be? What do you do for a living? What are you doing after college? Questions on top of questions.

Throughout my life, I have wanted to be an author, a detective, an astronaut, a playwright, an actor, a wedding planner, and a mortician. Now, I'm nineteen years old and I still have no clue what the future holds. I might be a screenwriter or a travel writer or a novelist. To put it simply, though my aspirations and ideals have morphed through the years, I still hold onto my dream of reaching a wide audience with my words.

Writing is a tricky thing. To me, it's a simple answer, almost a knee-jerk reaction.

"What's your job?"

"I'm a writer."

Easy. But, is it? Not really. It's one thing to say I'm a writer. I am. But it's another to live and breathe and soak in words all day, every day. I can feel the words inside of me at every moment, waiting for a stolen minute to release themselves onto a blank page. Finding that time, finding the inspiration, is getting more and more difficult.

It's akin to an addiction. You want it, you must - absolutely must - purge your brain of the ideas at some point. But, you're addicted to the creation aspect of the world of writing. The hard work, the editing, the actual writing, it's a lot harder.

I'll admit, I'm a pretty terrible writer. And not in the technical sense, since I don't think skill determines whether one is a writer or not. I'm terrible because I can't sit down and do it. I dream about doing it, I think about my characters all the time, but I've lost my sense of drive.

It's disheartening and chaotic, writing. It's a brutal world full of rejection, bad posture, and cramped fingers. But, enough waiting around. I'm ready to dive back in. My world is waiting for me, and now I'm ready to return to it.

Now, when people ask, I'll say "I'm a writer." And this time, it will be the truth.