dream
I want to be a writer. It’s one of my sillier secrets. People know I’m into books, and I’ve got a decent grasp of the language. But when people ask me what I plan to do with my smarts after school, I tell them I want to work in business, or maybe go into psychology.
It’s not a total lie. Opening a bookstore would be incredible, and I am very interested in psychology. But I get the feeling that working for a fortune 500 company is just not in my cards. For some reason, people think that smart equates to being in a well respected and oh-so-lucrative career. The few people I’ve confided in about this desire (besides Evade, of course) just smile and say “good luck”. I can’t be taken seriously!
The stigma is that wannabe writers are lazy hipsters who think far too highly of themselves to consider a “real” job. Aside from the respected few who get published, most struggling novelists or short story writers are being laughed at and are encouraged to get a job that puts more on the table than ramen. Why would someone as “promising” and “gifted” as me want to waste my life under that umbrella?
Well, I want to tell people, maybe because I love it. Maybe because every second I spend with my fingers wrapped around a pen or pounding on a keyboard, I’m happy. Maybe because I live for the catharic experience of putting words down on paper, and having people read them. Maybe because even if I spend the rest of my life shopping at thrift stores and living in a crappy studio apartment, if I’m writing, I know I’ll be alright. Shouldn’t that be enough? I don’t care if you don’t like it, I live for it. It’s enough for me. So don’t put me on a pedestal, I’m scared of heights.
What would I like to write? That’s usually the follow up question from people who haven’t patted my naive little head and walked away. Well, short and punchy stuff is what I like. I’m working on a novel, but in little bits. I love short stories, articles, and blogging (duh.). If I’m lucky, maybe I could work for a magazine, newspaper, or website. If I didn’t live where i do, in a place rather far from where I could, I’d volunteer or apply for an internship. In the future, I’d love to own a bookstore, but so far that’s just a pipe dream. I suppose I’ll see what fate has in store for me. The point is, I’m a writer. Whether I’ve written a lot, or nothing. Whether the world has read my work, or only my cat. This is what I’m going to do, this is my dream.
-Zodzia