It is possiblie a pointless thing to say, but I have always dreamed of being a writer. Not a writer that writes things, but a writer who is acknowledged as such. And maybe it’s rediculous for a person who believes that we are who we create ourselves to be to want to be a writer in other people’s eyes.
The thing is a writer, a real published writer with deadlines and book tours isn’t a writer because he dreamed himself into being one. He wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote and edited and rewrote. He worked hard, and not just that, he had talent.
I write, but I’ve never been able to put into a storie those things that every storie needs. I can understand that every life tells a great and incredible storie, but I can’t take a life and look at it and tell you where that storie is.
I could tell the storie of nursing school… and how it started and how it ended. I could leave out it’s real life effects and tell you the storie of how nursing school saved my life. but it would be too autobiographical.
I’m of the opinion that all works of fiction are in one way or another autobiographical and as authors get better they get better and better at covering up the autobiography. I’ve never been able to do it. It’s usually the best part of my writing, but it makes the rest seems silly and pointless.
They say that a good writer shouldn’t read too much because all you’ll ever do is end up quoting other people. And the thing is that I’m only twenty six but I’ve already reached an age where it’s hard for me to tell who I’m quoting. And then I think is it really so awful to have found the echo of your own thoughts in someone else’s words? And then I argue that it is if you want to write those thoughts down and sell them to people.
I want to tell a storie that gives someone what all the good books I’ve ever read have given me. It’s a feeling I know well. I seek it out. I call the feeling yes. It’s a short word. It’s all the conscious space you have left while you are feeling this feeling. It’s a moment when everything resonates so perfectly that you just want to shout.
You could be laughing or crying or sitting there turning pages in frantic urgency because you have to know what happens next.
I read. I read alot. It is the one hobby that I have kept in a life of discarded hobbies. I know very little about authors, except what it says in the bio in the book.
“I have green eyes, silver hair and freckles – the rest changes without notice.” And it’s been ages since I’ve read one of her books.
But I know about Terry Pratchett because he’s been my favorite for so long.
I also know a little about John Green even though I only started reading his books yesterday. This is because I also watch his videoblog, but it seems as if I should say that the two I’ve read so far were quite good. I should also thank Nikki.
So I just finished my second john green novel in slightly less than 24 hours and they were both quite good and now I’m going to read Nation, which I haven’t done yet.
And yes, four out of five of my recent book store purchases were from either the young adult or children’s sections. And no I’m not ashamed.