Why Am I a Writer (revised)

I am not a writer. The words are an army that I joined a while ago, and have been enlisted ever since.

 

Its an army which trains me to write this, but there’s no idea to fight for or history to change. These are the words of loose change between the cracks of the couch. Faulkner, Heminway, F. Scott Fitzgerald may have been the masters of the Art. My writing are the multi-colored smears and splatter on this pallet, in front of this ongoing blank canvas.

 

“I can’t do this anymore” I say to my words. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of hearing you dictate what you want to hear; what they want to hear; what anybody wants to hear. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“It doesn’t matter to us. You’re the one doing all the work. We just sit back and enjoy the ride. All for free”

 

They were right. There's not much overhead to house them, feed them or keep them around. They float in my coffee, sit on my couch and watch my television and laugh at my at my day job. And I can’t ignore them. I keep coming back to them. If I told you the amount of unwritten stories, poems, narratives, ramblings, jibberish, yadaa, yadda, yadda that goes through my head….

 

“Hold on,” they say, interrupting my train of thought. What do you think doing right now?”

 

“I’m trying to tell you to get out of my life and leave me the hell alone! You tiny words are pain in my ass. You’ve been in my head all of my life, thwarting my career, causing me to drink and screwing up my relationships. Your driving me crazy.”

 

“Then why do you stick around with us? Why do you keep call us up on the phone, crawling back into bed with us and cuddle that gross laptop you’ve had since school? I see you writing with her.”

 

"But I have nothing to say!” I write, yelling at them. “This is an incredibly boring dialogue and I blame each and everyone writing me to do this! This is a pointless exercise in thought --- in anything --- and even more asinine in reading. What kind of writer would describe their love affair with writing as a metaphor for a love affair with writing?

 

"As usual, you ramble. I forgive you for that. And the good news is that we actually agree with you --- to some extent. However, the actual reading of this by anyone other than us are the ‘real’ words that are to blame. You couldn’t understand them, you didn’t love them, and we’re ones you’ve kept around, feeding us, and rolling around with in the sack. You actually love us and no one else.”

 

"I'm afraid you might be right, but it doesn’t solve this conversation-with-my-words situation. If I don’t have to use you anymore, if my life without you would help me get a job or a girlfriend, you’d be gone in a second. Plus, your boring me, and I don't want to use your words, my words, or anybody else’s words anymore, dammit! I’m not a writer! . Go back to wherever you came from, Okay?"

 

“Okay” they said. Then I heard them writing down how much they’d be laughing their asses off for the rest of my entire life.

Comments

[Leona]

Well written article.

[Cosmo]

Missionary Words.