Not the fun kind either.
Something has been occurring to me lately. When does it no longer become feasible to call yourself what you want to be? Reading the Stephen King book, ‘On Writing’, he’s a big advocate of writing reams. I want to, I really do, but it’s just a matter of pushing the locomotive into position to get the train started. And that bugger is heavy.
So yes, I’ve decided that reading how-to books on writing is the impetus I really need to get started. It sorta works. The King book, though I’m not even really a King fan, is entertaining enough, but also makes me think I didn’t have a batshit crazy/sickly enough childhood, nor a pivotal battle with drugs, to warrant a career in writing. And I’m looking back over the ballpark of five years since I’ve really written anything substantial that didn’t have ‘Brock Press’ stamped on it. And both those things ended up kinda mangled on celluloid back in Thunder Bay (anyone who saw Funeral Blues will know what I’m talking about).
So here we find ourselves, in the nether-regions. Neither writing enough to call myself a writer, nor divorced enough from the idea to simply turn it into a hobby. There’s also a book called ‘Successful Television Writing’ somewhere in the postal nether-regions on its way here. Seemed a cheaper way of going about things than even thinking about cruising college websites. I think school has had its day.
So, you folks (and if this plug-in worked properly, everyone who knows me on LiveJournal) all do things. What do you call yourselves when doing/not doing them? What’s the threshold for ownership of title, be it actual or in your own mind?
Also, the gauntlet has been thrown on this thing: the ‘post-or-stop-paying-for-it’ gauntlet. Hopefully now with the crossposting and the writing books all telling me to writewritewrite, there may be actual activity. Or at least a pulse.