Memoirs of a Conflicted Writer: Part 1October 23, 2012
This is a true tale about my journey to becoming a published author. Most of the situations are factual, but character names and some speech have been invented.
October 20th 2008
My alarm clock seems louder than usual. I cancel it and sit up, but I want to go straight back to bed. It’s the day before my birthday—the last before I hit the 30 mark—and my friends have a big celebration planned. I rub my eyes as I walk to the bathroom, my thoughts still on the conversation with my brother, Adam, last night. I turn the shower on when my cell rings. The number is unknown, but I still answer it. I’m greeted by Adam’s voice.
‘How’re you doing?’ he says.
‘Tired. I wish Jeremy and all the lads will just stop fussing.’
‘But it’s your birthday,’ he says.
I shrug and walk out of the bathroom. ‘Anyway, what’s up?’
‘Well,’ he says. ‘I was speaking with Mum this morning about what we talked about last night.’
‘She thinks the same as me.’
I sigh. ‘But what if I dedicate an hour a day to it, maybe even two?’ I can picture Adam shaking his head.
‘It’s not that,’ he says. ‘Do you realise the responsibility of being a writer. Every word you write will be scrutinised. Some people will absolutely slam your work. It might just be because they don’t like you, and nothing to do with your book.’
I frown and walk into my bedroom where I sit down. ‘But everyone starts off somewhere. How will I ever know if I don’t try?’
‘You’re wasting your time if you ask me. Yea, you love reading books and watching films, but it’s so different when you’re the one creating. Think about how many times you’ve criticised authors and directors. If you write, you’ll be the one in the firing line.’
‘I place both hands on top of my head. I can do this. I know I can. ‘I guess only time will tell if I can make it happen.’
‘Well, it’s totally up to you, but I think you’re wasting your time.’
I stay quiet for a few seconds.
‘Anyway, forget this writing dream. I just can’t see you as an author. You’re not exactly the writing type. You’re way too busy. Just forget about it and come round. We’ve got a party to plan.’
I rub my forehead and take a deep breath. ‘Okay, cool. ‘I’ll be right there.’ I cut the phone off and enter the still running shower. I don’t care what he says. I still want to be a writer.
To be continued…
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