I Wish It Was All That Easy

There are times in my life when I wish I could send a message to all of those people, that for whatever reason, that I seem to have lost touch with. If I could send such a message, I would let them know how they had an impact on my life, regardless of how small and insignificant, that in essence, caused me to end up being who I am today.

But who am I really? And if these people who had even the most insignificant impact upon my life remembered me by name, would they even recognize the person I am today?

The notion that some day I might get in contact with someone I haven’t seen or heard from in decades is what inspires me to write. It’s the dream that some day, my writing might one day impact someones life just enough to have made a difference in who and where they are today.

Through the years of keeping a website, I’ve changed servers, software, and hosting plans, yet one single trend that has never changed is that I get two distinct responses from my readers.

About half of my readers place me upon a high pedestal and begin to compare the writing of others with the likes of mine. They tell me (in comments as well as emails) that the content of my writing is brilliant, and that I should keep doing what I’m doing because it’s just fantastic.

The other half of my readers tell me that my writing is horrible. So completely intolerable that they read more and more, just to find fault with it. They claim that I somehow wasted my writing abilities on stupidity, in some ways, my writing is about topics that nobody cares about. I’ve had people tell me that I’m an idiot, a loser, and (get this one), an Internet abuser.

Perhaps I’m just too alternative, both in my thought process and life choices, and somehow even, my writing. Let’s face it. I’m a one-of-a-kind writer who prefers to not be categorized, labeled, stereotyped, or bound to a single style of writing. My writing is a free-spirited reflection of who I am, and it is in a state of constant evolution, just like me.

But just like every endeavor, there is a process which must take place in order for you to accomplish what you originally set out to do. In other words, behind every piece of writing is a writer, through whatever steps were necessary, wrote the words that came together to form the piece. It’s a creative literary mash-up of sorts.

One of the most discouraging notions came to me recently from a reader who falls into the category of someone who loves to hate my writing. They presented me with a quandary; if you haven’t published a single book yet, how can you call yourself a successful writer? A successful writer is someone who has published [x number] of books.

And to this I state my answer as the following, in the form of a situation that is hypothetical at best. If all writers were on a ladder with the successful writers above us, why must we always look up? Is it wrong of us to every so often look down and see the rungs where we once stood as beginning writers? Instead of getting depressed because we’re not at the proverbial top, or the most successful writer, shouldn’t we instead draw inspiration upon how far we’ve come?

When it comes to writing, money is the cancer of my intellect. It is not the reason why I write; for the same reason that money can’t buy happiness, if writing doesn’t make you happy, perhaps you shouldn’t be making yourself miserable trying to make money off of your writing.

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