When writing, the most trouble I've ever had is finding a way to hold back or not to hold back.
How much is too much?
Am I revealing too much about myself?
Am I being too honest?
Not honest enough?
Should I even be writing?
Will these words hurt someone close to me?
Mostly, it's an inner conflict between the athletic, slutty, asshole I'm known as and the poet no one reads (my own damned fault because I show NO ONE my poetry).
I remember submitting an application for mail clerk, to my hometown newspaper, hoping I'd wedge my way into a staff writer position.
Until I met actual writers.
Most of the journalists and editors at my hometown paper were a stiff kick in the nads of my romantic self-image of the rebel writer-not at all how I viewed my favorite authors or myself.
These guys were pallid, balding and trollish in their appearance and just as unappealing in their manner. Most didn't have time for a young kid curious about the inner workings of creativity in regards to keeping the flow of words an irresistible feast or, at least, an appealing snack, for the brain.
One of those guys told me "there's no such thing as becoming a writer, you either are or you're not. After that, it's practice".
Back then, I was as serious about my writing as I was about pussy, risk-taking and living free of regret. Standing in the newsroom, looking at that sad handful of professional writers, I realized how little any of my interests were represented at that paper. As I figured that a town's newspaper is a reflection of it consumers (my hometown), I realized I was pondering a cross section that did not bode well for my future.
I never became a professional writer, in the sense of receipt of pay for tip-tap-typing away all day and part of the reason has to do with my experience on that day; A moment in time when I was blessed with a view of what lay years ahead on one possible tangent of my future. Another reason is that I was restless in that tiny town and wanted to see the world (I've seen pieces of it).
Since then, I've always wrestled with a way to integrate my personal self-image with the literary track I've chosen. At the times when this contest is at its most tense, I find it hard to write about any thing. Then, at some impasse, the impregnation of ideas and voices I've been holding back reaches a crescendo and I will not stop my fingers from the tip-tap-typing.
I will continue to write.
Thanks to RC and Boris for the encouragement. It means too much to me.