But, I Just Want to Write…
I was 8 years old, when I first uttered “I want to be a writer!” — not exactly knowing how that would be like. I got my grandpa’s old mechanical typewriter and off I went typing up small, innocent kid stories. I quickly learned how to blindly type with 10 fingers and my typing speed only went up from there. Then life happened and except some small bouts of writing a few short stories here and there, I didn’t write creatively for close to 15 years.
Yep, you read that right. It hurts to admit it so soberly. Wasting time, eh?
At least I read a lot whole this time. That’s something. If you believe Stephen King, it might even be more important than writing.
He probably just wants us to buy his books…
Me, a successful writer
In my imagination I’m sitting in a log cabin, wearing PJs the whole day, writing on one bestselling novel after the other. I have my hair unkept, I’m surrounded by a mystic “author’s aura” and I wear thick glasses, because I’m proud to wear them as a sign of my (allegedly) superior imagination and intellect. I have no real sleep-cycle and work whenever inspiration hits me. I’m a loner, I only have one very close friend and maybe a beautiful young woman, that comes visiting me from time to time. It’s platonic. But she’s intelligent and cute, she’s my muse. She inspires many characters in my novels and lifts my mood that’s constantly on the verge of depression, no matter my success.
Sounds partly familiar? Sure, because it’s heavily inspired by The Secret Window — my alltime favorite “writer thriller”. I just love how writers are mostly portrayed as the eccentric hermit type on the verge of going crazy.
Just like Johnny Depp’s character Mort Rainey (what a nice wordplay).
Well, so now here’s my reality check:
- I’m self employed, so I mostly wear my PJs all day (YES!)
- my hair is unkept (and turns grey really quickly now)
- I got those thick glasses (really hip nerd glasses)
- I might look and act “eccentric” to strangers…