The Write Stuff

I've spoken a few times recently with writers, people just like me with whom I happened to get into a conversation.  Bloggers.  But people blogging for a living, like, at an established website or freelancing successfully.  And I've thought to myself, really?  What do they have that I don't have?  I mean, aside from a paycheck that says "Professional Writer."  They have more discipline than I do, that's what.

"Write every day."  That is the one universal piece of advice I get.  Write every day, whether you want to or not.  You will get better and it will better flow from you.  I know this is true!  The very same thing can be said of art or athletics or music: practice every day, even a little, and the results compound over time.  Yet I remain an irregular writer, perhaps a lazy one.  I write when I have a fire in my belly, something absolutely burning inside me to get out!  And I tap away on the keyboard, each digit pressing a key like a high note in a symphony, perfectly in tune with the other keys.  I may write good songs... but where is my concerto?  Where is my Ninth Symphony?  Can't I make a joyful ode?

 

I am reminded that Beethoven was 53 or 54 by the time he completed the Ninth, and he'd been playing music since he was a very small child.  He was, what, thirteen when he was first published?  Shoot, by those measures I'm a genius!  What with the internet in all its practical glory, I am already published!  And I've not even been writing this blog for two years.

Wow, I'm feeling better about this writing thing.  Clearly a submission to The Atlantic is in order.