The Definition Of A Writer

"In my humble and unqualified opinion, the mark of a good, talented, fine writer...is not the distinction or the inaccessibility of their thoughts, but rather the outrageous normality of their thoughts and their capability to put those thoughts to page. Writing isn't about seeing the world in a way other people can't imagine, it's about understanding and communicating, an earnest desire to feel what other people are feeling and to remind them that other people are feeling the same..."   -Anonymous commenter ("The Difference Between A Writer And Someone Who Wants Everyone To Think They're Some Romanticized Notion Of A 'Writer'")

When I read this anonymous person's commentary, I thought DAMN... that guy got it right.  There's something about this notion of being a writer that can intimidate the hell out of a person who isn't a product of an Ivy League "writing" school or a brave soul willing to go without a paycheck for the sake of putting pen to paper.  During creative writing courses in college, it was easy to dismiss what my borderline-crazy writing professor would say. "No, this can't be a story about a boy and a girl.  Unless of course you add some incest or a murder into the mix."  Uhhh...Excuse me?  Gross.  I always tend to write slice-of-life pieces.  After all, you're supposed to write what you know and I sure as hell didn't know anything about incest and the like.  Yes, I got a C on that assignment and was told that my stubborn instance to write things that were "too normal" was never going to get me anywhere.  But I loved my stories and friends did too and that was good enough for me.

And then I decided to apply to Columbia for a summer publishing program after graduation.  It was the chance I'd been hoping for.  The door through which everything else would open and I could actually make my stories worth something.  And then I received my rejection letter-- actually, it was an email-- that came in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday like a Facebook notification or a recipe suggestion from my mother. Was I surprised?  Not really.  But I remember how small and stupid I felt to have the written verification that I was "not the kind of candidate Columbia was looking for."  Of course I didn't get in.  I didn't go to an NYU or Princteon.  I didn't have any published works in my measley 22 years.  I was nobody.  And those weren't the kind of people who got to go on and write for a living-- not successfully anyway.  I mean, after so much time spent in books stores it's easy to get intimidated by the unbelievable number of authors whose words exist between those walls.  How many are there?  Hundreds?  Thousands?  So how could anyone be interested in what I have to say?  As far as I was concerned, that dream of mine was just going to get lost in the chaos of it all.

But then I started this blog, largely because I missed the kind of clarity and spark that putting words on a page brought to my life.  And that's when I realized a very important thing.  The greatest part about writing is the fact that you don't do it for anyone else.  Whether it's a short story to submit to Good Housekeeping, a journal, a blog or something else... You write for yourself, for a love of words and stories and the sense of magic that comes once you've managed to string them together into something meaningful.  I write because the world makes more sense when I can write it down.  And the fact that someone somewhere might be able to relate to what I have to say?  Well that's just fantastic.  But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what Columbia's publishing school thinks about your abilities or the English professor who tells you that your stories are too "plain" for anyone to want to read.  If it matters to you, then that's reason enough to do it.  No if's, and's or but's about it.