Am I a Writer?
I feel like writing right now. I feel like writing like some people want dessert. It’s a craving that needs to be satisfied just like a sweet tooth. Often it isn’t something specific I want to write. I just want to write. Something. Anything! Hand me the menu! I’ll find something on it to satiate my desire! Ice cream, chocolate, chocolate ice cream–anything will do to ease my hankering.
Does this insistent call confirm that I am a writer?
I write but does that mean I am one? Is it an inherent piece of my soul? Or simply something I do? When I experience what I’m feeling now–the NEED to write–I know it comes from a deep place within me. I’m not flirting with writing. It is my soul mate connecting with my desire to create. I may leave it from time to time, but like a passionate soul-deep love, it always summons me back. Returning into its ever-welcoming arms is a homecoming. My shoulders relax and my spirit skyrockets as I relax into the embrace. Why do I ever leave?
Does leaving my soul mate diminish the power of the relationship? I hope not. I pray the call of my muse remains steadfast even when I do not. Is that a fair expectation? I want you to be there and wait for me, no matter what. Keep the door open. Know I will return.
Is it too much to ask? Again, I hope not. We writers are a capricious lot–sometimes working ‘round the clock and other times we watch endless episodes of who knows what on Netflix–currently, I’m rewatching Game of Thrones from the beginning. I sometimes wonder if we fall into the category of those who are watched over by an omniscient force- like children, drunks and . . . writers? Once again, I hope!
So far my mind and heart’s soul mate has always been waiting when I return–accepting the metaphorical prodigal son, who is neither son nor child. I have always been handed the menu when I ask. But who knows how long that will continue. When will my absence become an unforgivable slight? How long could I stand in hope and faith as my lover left me to do whatever the hell was more important than being with me? Maybe I should be an equally participating partner?
I will select off the proffered menu, and soon. Anything will satisfy, and the feast is endless.
Yes. Yes, I AM a writer. But, perhaps, I should honor my creative force more. I don’t want it/her/him to break up with me. How many second chances does one writer get?