06 Aug Writing the Book I Want to Read
Have you ever gone into a bookstore, looking for a specific kind of book? I’m not meaning an actual title, but a book that is speaking about or inspires a certain something? I have done this numerous times. Sometimes I find something close, but I never actually find that book. You know why? Because what I’ve realized is that during those moments I am actually looking for the book I should be writing. I am looking for something so specific, that in many ways it’s already been written in my head. I am looking for someone else to have said what I already know I want to hear. This is when you know you are a writer.
But the thing is, I can’t really imagine ever actually being a writer. What do I think being a writer is? Well, I’m sure it’s many things to many people, but for me, it’s writing a book. I can write blog entry after blog entry. I can even write more in a year’s time than someone with published books, but I wouldn’t call myself a writer. I have not sat down with a hate-on for the book I have to finish because it needs and wants to be finished. That’s a writer.
Somtimes I wonder if I’ll just always desire it. Like someone infatuated with space, or the moon — they’re never going there, but their fascination never stops. Their fascination is their hobby.
I write about my life. I write about my stucknesses. I write about writing. I write about psychology. I write about spirituality. But I’m more of commentator at this point. I haven’t actually nailed down my voice. I haven’t found that part of me that really wants to speak. I don’t think I’m glamorizing writing either. Sure, it’s a lot of work, but people who actually ‘write’ have something to say. They might not always know what that is, but something in them strongly wants to speak. That part of me has not spoken up loudly enough yet. Maybe this is the extent of my writing. Basically I journal in front of others. Some people enjoy it, others are probably annoyed with it. Oh well.
I still want to write that book though. The one I keep looking for but never truly find amongst the sea of other books. The one inside of me wanting to be written. I’ll either get to the moon or I won’t. It’s okay, cause at least I know the moon exists.