February 1, 2010
I Want to Write
It is my dream to write. If you are an American Idol fan, you have no doubt watched the auditions, wherein seriously delusional singing wannabes make complete fools of themselves by opening their mouths in front of the judges. The sounds that pour forth are but a mockery of the music they purport to represent. These poor souls truly believe they can sing and are devastated when they are told that, no, they really cannot sing, and will not be going on to the next round.
This, I fear, is how my writing skills are perceived. I would love nothing more than to become a composer of the English language whose skills leave an audience breathless with anticipation for works yet to come. I dream of my name belonging in the same ranks as Hemingway, Capote, Dickinson, and Steinbeck. My novels would be among those of required reading by educational institutions, and my literary contributions would be revered as works of unparalleled genius.
Are you laughing yet? Yes, well, it is to be expected. For, really, what do I have to contribute to this world? I sit down with the best of intentions, thinking that this will be the day when, at the moment my fingertips touch the keyboard, I will be transported into a creative trance, and the words will pour forth onto the page of their own accord. At some point, I will awaken to find that nothing short of a literary miracle has transpired, and the entire world must be made aware of its existence, for what I have created will surely make the world a better place.
Mmm hmmm… I will get back to the housework now; Cinderella, returning to reality. No, Dog… writin’s not your thing.
