s p r i n k l e d s t r e e t s

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— (ts eliot)

Thursday, December 01, 2005

I was challenged today by a conversation with a professor who asked me why I wanted to be a writer. Her point was that there are many mediocre writers out there, and for every good or even acceptably-good writer there is who actually is published, there are thousands more who never "make it."

So why go into writing?

My answer - because I want to. And because if I do not try, then I will never know if I could have done something.
If I try and fail, well that is an entirely plausible even likely thing.

But here I am writing tonight, and getting not very far. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm trying to write "Creative Non-Fiction" which is much more difficult than it sounds.

Right now I'm thinking that I will never amount to anything as a writer, and it is probably true.

Bah - forgive the self-indulgent blathering...

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