Sometimes I wonder how I can call myself a writer without having actually finished anything.
To be a writer, I’ve learned, one merely needs to think like one. And I think that’s where a lot of people get us wrong. People suppose you get this instant spark of inspiration-a dream in the middle of the night—a resolve that scribbles it all down in a moment and finishes, like a burst at a marathon.
But to be a writer is to walk when everyone else is running. It’s to notice all the fine details in the race-on the track—in the way the runners run, and why they run, and the beat of their heart and the beat of their breath; the yellow ribbon stretched across the horizon, the violent shouts of the crowd, the adrenaline pumping, tearing through the yellow into bright lights, into strong arms.
To be a writer is to lose a lot. To trail behind and watch them win.
It’s to keep getting back in the fight when you fall, because a story could be out there, and you’d do anything to find it.
I see my life as the arc of a story line. There’s always conflict, and the rise and fall, and the resolution, or at least I hope so. And I began to think that in a good story, the protagonist always changes, something always happens where the beginning is not the same as the end. So with each new valley and mountain I remember that who I was is not who I am, and is not who I’ll be. And when I began to see that everybody else is a story too, I think that’s when I became a writer.
But the time has come for me to write like a writer, I’ve got to get to it.