It’s no good running a pig farm badly for thirty years while saying, “Really I was meant to be a ballet dancer.” By that time, pigs will be your style. ~ Quentin Crisp
I thought I would become a writer when I turned fifty. I have been saying that since I was in my teen years. Teachers, friends, co-workers have commented from time to time, “Hey, you should be a writer.” and my response has always been ” I’m collecting life experiences so that I will have something to write about.”
I figured it would take until about fifty to have enough credible life experiences to be taken seriously.
And… I really believed myself.
What I didn’t see was the delay tactic of a big scared chicken. The unconscious desire to be liked more than the need to get out there and put pen to paper and risk the failure of someone not liking what I wrote.
Being a writer is a risky business. Oh sure, I’ve been doing Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages ( Author of the book the Artist’s Way) for thirty years, long before I ever heard of her or the concept. They are my hand-written journals, documenting the free-flow thoughts of my morning coffee, day after day, year after year. They are taking up space on my bookshelves where no one will read them until I am dead. The only risk in this is that someone might sneak a peak a little early.
Writing for public approval or pay carries a greater risk. Someone might not like you. Someone might not think you know what you are talking about. Someone might tell you you are wrong. Someone might think you were born missing the creative gene. Someone might think you are not worthy enough to carry the title of WRITER after your name.
Wendi Kelly, Writer.
I have worked in the corporate business writing world. As a writer. One would think that this would give a person a sense of reassurance. After all, I was paid to write and consult others about their writing. Yet somehow that venture out into the professional world of writing, working for the boss with the little red pen and nothing nice to say, did more to shake my confidence than all my school teachers combined.
I left that world feeling less like a writer then when I went in. I had become a word processor. Crank them up and spit them out. Cross the T’s and dot the I’s. Don’t get cute, don’t get funny, just say what needs to be said and get out….
I got out.
Now I want back in. In to the world of writing. Pick up the pen, feel the keys of the keyboard tapping under my fingers, clicking out my thoughts, my ideas, good or bad.
Ready to face rejection?
I am about to turn forty eight. Just a few years shy of the big Five-Oh. I guess maybe I have been collecting a giant bag of life experiences to write about, but more importantly, I’ve learned a lot of life lessons that have equipped me for the journey ahead. A huge one is the lesson of rejection.
You can’t hide from it.
It’s out there no matter what you do. So why run a pig farm if you wanted to be a ballet dancer? You still aren’t going to get away from rejection. Pig farmers get rejected too.
I’ll take my chances making my dreams come true.
