Ending and Beginning again

I originally titled this blog, My Parents Told Me Not To Become A Writer. Indeed they did. They only knew one writer, Benjamin Appel. I adored the man, at least as a child. He was funny and witty and warm. Years later, when I was a graduate student I read all his novels and found them, well, not exactly what I'd expected. I wrote one of my worst papers on them. I loved the man, but not the writer. My parents saw that being a writer, or really an artist of any kind is beyond difficult. It's great when you attain a modicum of success. Let me amend, that moment is great. It's also great when you get a nice review, or someone tells you they loved your book, article, story. The rest of it? Not so great in terms of making a steady living. Sure, I love writing. Love how hard it is, love the challenge. But I hate the selling piece. Hate finding the agents, I've had seven. Hate getting the rejections from editors. Hate realizing that what I think is finished is never done. Even success when it comes isn't what you thought it would be. It's as if you get to take a big sigh, then gird your loins and move on. I'm not griping, I'm being honest.

Why does one do it? Because really you can't do anything else. It's an addiction. If I don't write, I'm miserable. If I'm not investing in a character's life, I can't enjoy my own. I am about to attend my high school reunion. Now let's say I have a little trepidation about this. Why? I was miserable in high school. I had exactly one friend. But I did have an English teacher who inspired me. I was already writing poetry, bad poetry of course. He assigned a paper that could be creative or not. I chose creative and he gave me a lousy grade. He told me I wasn't writer material. Years later I suppose I've proved him wrong. And my parents too. But at what cost? It would have been much much easier to be the doctor my mother wanted me to be. I think of Amelia, she could have been a doctor too. In that way, we are similar. She also wanted to be a writer. And was one. . .though really she's not famous for writing, now is she?

Regrets, not about this. Without being able to write, where would I be? It transports me, and offers me a real challenge every single day. It's painful to be a writer, but life is painful. It's also the most fun I've ever had working. That's why we choose it in the end I think, because it's fun. Or as Amelia said, for "The Fun of It."