A few days ago I heard an excerpt of “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert that spoke about writing as a vocation opposed to a career. The “why” of writing can’t be a means to an end. I mean it can start off that way – don’t get me wrong. I’ve written countless essays and short stories as prompts to assignments for class, but somewhere along the way the process of writing develops from completion of the task into an exercise of self expression or discovery. People have asked me if I want to become a writer – oh wow, just reading that question right now almost sounds offensive doesn’t it? Asking someone who actually writes – if they want to become a writer – I mean aren’t they already a writer in their own right? But that’s the point isn’t it? Society believes you are a writer if you get paid for what you create.
In words I can write my emotions like Pablo Neruda crying out how he can write the saddest lines. Sometimes I can be the most honest in my writing – although I have to say, my face sometimes can be equally as honest in its non-verbal delivery. But writing doesn’t only have to be the pain of the past … there’s a refreshing joy in just sharing your day and discoveries. Ultimately that’s the reason why I write. It’s a message in a bottle – waiting to be opened by you.