Over the years I've written stacks and stacks of stories, reviews, nonfiction, essays and even a screenplay. Except for a few rare instances that's as far as they went. Every reason you can imagine has kept what I've written from being seen by anyone but me. On occasion I would take something out and have a close confidante read it, with the result of them being more surprised and supportive than critical. The main obstacle to putting anything out there is me. Life, work and hesitation has kept it away from being published.
Though this site is mainly for my writing and not self indulgence, I feel I should say something about myself before we begin. I have been writing for most of my life. I realized this at the end of high school and began to cultivate this interest in the following years. From then on, no matter where I was or what I was going through, I always wrote. Writing is not the most comfortable interest, sometimes it can be very difficult; causing you to become a morose, self centered, dramatic person with few friends. For too long I became comfortable in that state thought comfortable was not the word. I was anti social, cynical, and angry; the stereotypical writer.
Writing is always something I've felt a need to do. Even when I hate it and feel it takes up too much of my life, I always return to it. As trite as it sounds, I feel it is something I'm forced to do. It is enjoyable to a point but always takes more emotional effort than most can give at once. I feel drained, tired and unsatisfied when I'm in the middle of a writing binge.
Always, even when I'm satisfied with everything in my life and feel I'm accomplishing a lot it's there, reminding me that I've either gone without writing for too long or what I have written is too substandard to be proud of.
One task I had while working for a publishing house consisted of proofreading bios on well known authors for publication in high school textbooks. Though I was aware of most of them, it reinforced what I already knew- writers are miserable people that rarely enjoy their lives. Save for the widely accepted bestsellers and Oprah Bookclub members do they ever feel acceptance by others, much less themselves. Edgar Allen Poe, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac all lived lonely lives. It seems to be a necessary component of being a worthwhile authors.
