The maybe I’m referring to is; maybe I’m not meant to be a writer (author) It crosses my mind on a daily basis if not every other day. It’s a depressing thought sometimes and others, a bit encouraging. I follow the same trail in the beginning but onward and the ending are always changing.
A part of me hide in the fear that I could make something of myself as a writer. I’d dreamed of it for so long. I knew I could do it, I had the determination. Yet the farther I went and the closer I became; the scarier things were. I’ve clung to fear most of my life, finding protection within it.
I can’t stop spinning stories inside my mind, or when I step outside. I see possibilities everywhere. I get caught up in creating a tale no matter how hard I, try to avoid doing so.
When I choose to step outside of the fear I had to face a lot of things I denied.
- Is this life for me?
- Do I have the talent?
- What makes me any different?
- What can the stories I write, offer to those who read them?
I have no idea if the life of a writer is meant for me. I’ve never once, been certain what my career purpose is.
Talent? Surely I had experience but that didn’t mean it reflected quality
What makes me any different? Probably not a thing, expect that there’s only one me.
Can my stories offer anything? Of course but were these messages worth hearing?
There’s always two sides to a coin and I find this is true in a lot of things in life. I can easily find the negativity which got me thinking about the positives. There usually hard to find. We only see, what we want to accept. Soon, I pulled out the short story collection I was featured in. I saw my name, there among some of the most amazing authors, I’ve had the pleasure to work with. I read over their works, countless times, in awe of what their minds created.
I know being published isn’t what determines if the writing is good. I’ve read quite a few books that, I can’t figure out how publication came about. I’m certain a lot of us have.
After weeks, more like months, of thinking and reflecting I came to a decision. Yes, maybe I am not meant to be a writer in the long run. However I’m not going to deny what makes up a huge part of who I am. Maybe I will never publish another story. Maybe, people will not get the chance to embrace the characters I create and their stories.
At the end of the day, if I want something accomplished, I have to put in the effort and complete it. I can’t expect my worries and doubts to bring to life the words I seek. Whatever side of the coin I end up on, the goal will never change. I am the only person who can make my dreams come true.
Maybe not, maybe so, what my future holds is up to me.