The Inner Constitution
Who are any of us as writers? What shapes us and the stories we tell? What stories are we too afraid to tell? When will you fill up the next blank page?
These are questions that every writer deals with on every day that they choose to be a writer. Personally, I try to be a writer every day. But there are days (thankfully non-consecutive) where I don’t want to deal with any of these questions at all. Not because I fear them, but because there’s a natural apathy that comes along with being a writer.
Earlier this week, I talked about getting distance from a shitty couple of events that I wasn’t exactly expecting. But I got through them, and the grass ended up being a basking field of green to use a tired metaphor once again. But those experiences did put a small tinge of doubt in the direction I was going as a writer. Just the direction, nothing more. After the drinking binge and many nights of aided sleep, things shifted back to as they were before. Clarity returned, and while the direction of some of the projects I was in was now different, the pace was more fierce and determined.
Because you can’t drag me away from this. It is simply not in my constitution as a writer, a creator, a storyteller, a person…to quit. I refuse to allow outside forces and flippant inconsistency from others be a roadblock to the V-10 engine that rests behind my brain, my heart, and these two typing hands. I’m a writer, and I won’t ever stop.
No matter what.