I’m sitting in the living room recliner with a sick two year old boy in my lap as he blows phlegmy,warm breath in my face. I can hear my husband on the phone in his office upstairs. He’s trying to make sense of a confusing email that he’s received, and I’m sure when the phone call is through he will mumble obscenities under his breath.
I’m typing this post on a Samsung Galaxy smartphone because my lap top is three rooms away but the need to write has come upon me quickly and urgently like a 2 litre of generic Dr. Thunder soda comes knocking on a bladder during a Sunday night church service.
You’ve heard it before- writers droning on about how necessary it is to write. It’s a need. It’s absolutely vital. If forbidden to write, the writer would surely wilt into a pile of dung and scatter in the northern wind.
And as desperate and cardinal as it sounds, it’s absolutely true.
I knew I wanted to be a writer at a very young age. I wrote a post about that
here. If you are interested, feel free to click the link. If you aren’t interested, then don’t. Free will, my friends-it’s all yours.
In high school, I was embarrassed of my passion. Writers are usually weirdos. Think round Lennon glasses, dingy messenger bags, an individual that could speak in depth about a bag of Cheetos and a box of Band Aids.
And some are recluses, holed up in a loft apartment listening to Rachmaninoff on vinyl, scribbling page after page about despair.
And some are just crazy. Think Hunter S. Thompson.
I didn’t write for the school newspaper because Lord knows I was too embarrassed to let anyone know my views, and I certainly didn’t want anyone to think I was a weirdo, recluse or crazy.
As high school came to an end, I sat in a guidance counselor’s office and tried to determine what I wanted to do with my life. As the lovely lady in her sweater vest asked about my interests, my love of writing reluctantly passed through my lips.
‘Be a writer, Susannah. That would be wonderful.”
And for the first time, I realized that writing didn’t have to be some dirty, shameful hobby like Dungeons and Dragons.
“I’ll be a writer,” I beamed. “I will get paid to do what I love.”
Flash forward 13 years.
I’m not a writer.
I blog. I do a little freelance work here and there, and I just submitted a novel to a literary agent. I’m prepared for total, utter rejection as I repress the urge to vomit and ingest fingernails, but I’m not a writer. Not a real writer, anyway.
Real writers get paid to write. Real writers are published. Real writers are authors. Real writers don’t become embarrassed and feel unworthy when their grandmother asks how their book is coming along.
Any time someone asks about this blog, my book, or anything I’ve put on paper, I shut down like Wall-E during a dust storm and want to change the subject.
Writers aren’t supposed to feel that way. Writers are supposed to feel accomplished, proud of their work.
I dream of being a writer, but I’m not really a writer, am I? I don’t write daily. My passion doesn’t pay the mortgage.
And yet opening lines pop into my head hourly, every day of my life.
I can’t stop them.
“Old man McMillin hadn’t been the same since the life-altering loss on Jeopardy in 1973. He shuffled around his garden in tube socks and a stained red flannel robe as he pruned his roses and mumbled, ‘What are the Apennine Mountains?'”
“The ground was so soft from the downpour that the little boy’s yellow dump truck had sunk three feet into his front yard within a matter of minutes. The boy’s father, the local news meteorologist, applied extra deoderant and wore his tennis shoes to work in preparation for the numerous tornado warnings that he would announce through the night.”
“She survived famine and fueds. She buried three husbands, two cats and one son. She walked twenty three steps from the door of her nursing home to the bench at the corner of Laverne and 18th Street. She waited on a bus that would never come.”
“I was sitting in the living room recliner with a sick two year old boy in my lap, as he blew warm, phlegmy breath in my face…”
Stories come to me every day, begging to be told.
I can’t shut it off. I don’t want to shut it off. I love it. I don’t get paid for it, but I love it. I’m not internationally known, but I love it. Sometimes I’m embarassed by it, but I love it. It’s what I was put here to do.
Writing may never pay for a beach house in Maine. The publishing deal may never come. My heart may palpitate each time I’m asked about my stories, but I will continue to write.
I must.
For me, writing is peace. And bliss. And necessary.
Real writers love to write.
Maybe I am a writer after all.
**Tell me about your need to write**
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I never expected to feel that need to write. Then I started blogging. Every day, all day long I am composing my next post in my head and wishing I was at home with my keyboard.
Ah, what a wonderful feeling when you finally reach the keyboard.
Writer-,(n) one who writes, especially as an occupation.. You dear Susannah are defintely a writer. I’d even call you a word-painter(a writer of vivid descriptive power) or a wordsmith (fluent and prolific writer). Your book may not be published yet but I can’t wait to read it.. your blogs make people feel emotions and that’s the most important thing a writer can do. I have laughed and cried at your blogs. I wait just as patiently for your next blog as I waited in ine for the last harry potter book.
Sweet Jess, thank you so much. This comment is precious to me!!!
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You know, reading this post, a difference between writers and musicians strikes me…
With musicians, there’s a good chance you’ll get called a sell-out if you sign to a major label or do basically ANYTHING to try and get noticed.
With writers, you’re not considered a “real writer” unless you do.
I start getting edgy and vaguely GUILTY if I don’t write on a regular basis. That’s all being a writer is to me.
This is true. I know plenty of musicians. Some want desperately to be discovered, but many don’t. I also know several that have actually made it. And somehow, they’ve learned to adjust.
I never thought I was a writer even though I’ve had a couple jobs as a writer and that’s always been my secret wish. Hubs would say, instead of editing other people’s stuff, why don’t you write your own story” and then my DIL bugged me to start a blog and I’m writing my own stuff now, but don’t have the courage to submit anything. Good luck on your project!
You should submit something! Do it!!!
Thanks.
Could’ve fooled me. And to think…all this time I’ve been reading your words thinking you were a REAL writer. And not even caring if you’re “published”. You know, because you’re awesome at it. Silly me.
Well, i just love this comment. Youre ahhhmayyyziiiing!
Hey, you know something? You’re REALLY good. I’m trying to be a writer, but I don’t have the hang of it yet. I definitely know good writing when I see it. (Maybe I’m better suited to editing?) This post has all the hallmarks of good writing. Keep it up!
Or, put otherwise:
… I was sitting on the family room couch, watching a zombie movie and sipping a warm Pepsi, when I decided to check in on a few blogs. Susannah–some lady from the South whom I began following a few weeks ago–posted a piece about her need to write. I started skimming quickly through it, to see if it contained anything funny or fascinating or sexy, because if not, I know plenty of other sites that do. Soon, I found myself reading every word–and really thinking, something any good piece of writing should make a reader do. Now I wish I had Susannah’s talent. I wish I shared her NEED to write, because I believe I only WANT to do it. I’ll pay more attention in the coming days to what I think about, what I write about, and what I should be writing about. I’ll remember Susannah and how she inspired me tonight…
You sound like you have your own talent. Thanks so much for this comment. I appreciate it very much!!
Girl, when I was checking my blog roll this morning I thought, “Damn, I haven’t seen a post from Susannah in awhile”. Then Boom, your post popped up and it made me smile. I have always thought that of all the blogs I read you have the raw talent and drive to succeed as a real writer. Keep following your passion and it WILL happen for you.
I love the pure h e double hockey sticks out of you. Thank you!!!!!!!!!
I love how you write and what you write, I wish I could write like you, swap brains? Also fingers crossed for your novel!!
Thank you for the compliment! I assure you that you do not want my brain. Thanks so much for reading and crossing your fingers!
Fear and loathing in las Vegas! Haven’t thought of that book in years! Thx! I am a reader not a writer!
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Please keep writing. Always. When you hear from that agent promise me this:: on the teeny tiny chance that agent passes bc she is strung out on coke and having terminal bloat– please do not give up. I know you’ll be a published author.
Did jeopardy exist in 73? Can I be your fact checker?
if this comment were a person I would marry it. Or string it along for 14 years. Yes I checked Wikipedia before I posted the Jeopardy comment. Thanks!!
They’re all great opening paragraphs. I wouldn’t know what to do with them afterwards.
To help encourage you, I gave you an award.
http://michaeldagostino.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/oh-look-award.html
You are absolutely right Susannah. Real writers write. It’s about that need to write and the words that pop into your head that you’re constantly jotting down throughout the day. It’s the same with music for me. Musician friends and I always say we have no choice in the matter. it’s in the blood. Love this post and your starter lines to other stories. Would like to read more of those. Especially Old Man McMillan. 😉 The D & D line was priceless! And I am in awe that you typed this entire post on a smart phone with no typos!
Thanks Linda! And I had to revise typos for twenty minutes!!
Oh do I get you. I question the very same thing day after day as I face my keyboard and pour my heart out in my words. I pray and I dream… I want to be able to say I am a writer. And like you, I am humble and discouraged. YOU, you are a gem. You are like no other, and I read A LOT of blogs and writers. You are unique and clearly gifted. Perseverance my friend… never ever stop. You ARE a writer. 🙂
Thank you so much, my friend. This comment made me smile. Alot. Good luck to you as well!! 🙂
I know how this feels… and I also know that you will be a published writer. You’ve got what it takes. And by the way, all of those opening lines you wrote would make a hell of a novel. Go for it!
Thank you Steph. You always make me smile!!!
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