I Think, Therefor I am.

I wonder why the words don’t flow effortlessly when it’s private. When I’m not linked into the world wide web. Where my thoughts aren’t thrown out for the world to see.

I have a long list of valid excuses. I don’t have time is my favorite. Really, I’m a busy girl. And, I don’t get paid to do this. Or any other writing for that matter.

I’ve wondered sometimes, what kind of money is really in it. Writing that is. I bet big names like Stephen King made a pretty penny or two. But, how pretty? Pretty enough to sustain the meager life that I have? Pretty enough to buy diapers every week and put gas in the car?

And, how long would I really have to budget all that money anyway? Weeks? Months? Years?

Logic tells me it’d be years. That it would seem like a lot of money at first appearance, but in reality, it would be less than I make at the factory. And, it wouldn’t even arrive until after all the work was done. That’s a lot of weeks without diapers and gas.

So… I say that I don’t have time. Really, I have the same amount of time as you do. Even the same amount of time as Stephen King. I wonder if he had four kids that danced on the edge of his last nerve daily. I wonder if he had a spouse who couldn’t work. I wonder if he had a factory job.

I wonder how long it would take me to write anything worthwhile of being written while still maintaining my mundane life. How many hours a day would I have to sacrifice? Could I sacrifice them? Hours with my children are precious, would the reward be worth it?

And then there’s the good old, what would I even write about? I’ve dabbled in this and dwindled in that, but nothing of much substance seems to come of it. Nothing novel worthy by any means. Plus, I suck at writing fiction. Well, I think I suck at writing fiction. And non-fiction, well that can be a little too real at times. Could I truly put it ALL out there? And if I did, who would even care?

Then I get the random comment, the scribble of encouragement on the bottom of my English essays, “You should be a writer.”

It’s not a new concept. I’ve heard it many times before. And, it’s not that I’m actually ignoring the repetitive advice… I just, have lots of good excuses.

I don’t have time. I don’t have money. I don’t have anything to write about. No one will care. It will be a waste. I won’t make anything from it. It won’t be worth it.

I wonder how many others have listened to that voice inside of themselves. How many others gave in before they ever really tried. I wonder how different the world would be if everyone didn’t have time, or money, or a solid plan. Would we even have electricity? Internet? Computers? Cars? Fire?

I bet it took that first person an awful long time rubbing those two sticks together. I bet his cavemen friends laughed at him. Grunted about his wasting time. I bet he thought it wouldn’t be worth it.

Then one day a spark ignited. And now, now we have heat and warm meals and all the other crazy amazing things brought to us by the discovery of fire.

I’m not even just talking about inventions. There’s tons of examples of how disastrous the world would be had someone wasted all their time second guessing rather than simply doing.

I wonder when I’ll realize that not following my passion is the only true waste of time.

I wonder, how long I’ll have to rub two sticks together until a spark is ignited in me.


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