By Keith N FisherI had occasion to visit a previous place of employment and talked with some of my friends. We talked about changes and I told them what I’ve been up to. In 2005, I lost my career job and I’ve been bouncing through life since. Most recently, I was a victim of the Bush economy and the Obama recovery hasn’t helped.
Because of those issues, I’ve had to start over and build a new career. Don’t get me wrong, I’m doing okay. Getting out the chair from sedentary jobs has been beneficial, and the new skills I’m learning have been challenging.
During my visit, three people independently asked if I was still writing. I said yes of course. Then after the last person asked I considered the question on a deeper level.
Of course I’m still writing. How could I not? A couple of years ago, on this blog, I wrote about the need we all have to write. Some of us pretend to quit but always come back to it. For many of us, writing is a core desire. To echo what I wrote then, I have a friend who signs every email with the words, writing is life.
In my new job, I meet many people who claim they just can’t function without that first cup of coffee in the morning. I’ve known others over the years, who can’t relax without that glass of wine or the beer after work. These are indications of addiction and illustrate my point.
I can’t quit writing. Ideas and plot lines float around my head and must be released onto paper, so to speak. Every day something presents itself that must be written down. Once, I have written it, I can move on through my day.
To be fair, I do have friends who are great writers but they just don’t have the all-consuming desire to write. I understand. I seem to function just fine without a cup of coffee and I don’t need a beer or a glass of wine to relax. In fact the older I get the easier it is to fall asleep. So it’s okay to not be driven. On the other hand, I cannot quit.
I told my friend at the old job, that I would always write. Even if my books were never published, I will write them. I cannot not, write. With each new twist my life takes I keep my writing with me. Like a bundle tied to the end of a proverbial stick, resting on the shoulder of a transient, I keep my writing close.
Good luck with your writing—see you next week.
Because of those issues, I’ve had to start over and build a new career. Don’t get me wrong, I’m doing okay. Getting out the chair from sedentary jobs has been beneficial, and the new skills I’m learning have been challenging.
During my visit, three people independently asked if I was still writing. I said yes of course. Then after the last person asked I considered the question on a deeper level.
Of course I’m still writing. How could I not? A couple of years ago, on this blog, I wrote about the need we all have to write. Some of us pretend to quit but always come back to it. For many of us, writing is a core desire. To echo what I wrote then, I have a friend who signs every email with the words, writing is life.
In my new job, I meet many people who claim they just can’t function without that first cup of coffee in the morning. I’ve known others over the years, who can’t relax without that glass of wine or the beer after work. These are indications of addiction and illustrate my point.
I can’t quit writing. Ideas and plot lines float around my head and must be released onto paper, so to speak. Every day something presents itself that must be written down. Once, I have written it, I can move on through my day.
To be fair, I do have friends who are great writers but they just don’t have the all-consuming desire to write. I understand. I seem to function just fine without a cup of coffee and I don’t need a beer or a glass of wine to relax. In fact the older I get the easier it is to fall asleep. So it’s okay to not be driven. On the other hand, I cannot quit.
I told my friend at the old job, that I would always write. Even if my books were never published, I will write them. I cannot not, write. With each new twist my life takes I keep my writing with me. Like a bundle tied to the end of a proverbial stick, resting on the shoulder of a transient, I keep my writing close.
Good luck with your writing—see you next week.
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