Writing

I’m a technical writer, but I confess I don’t love it.

For years, my dream was to be a writer, to make a living with my words. I do that now. But it feels empty. For years, I wrote a blog analyzing movies and television. I grew as a writer, but I also grew tired of that format. It, too, felt empty.

In his 2012 Keynote Address at the University of the Arts, Neil Gaiman spoke about walking toward the mountain that he wanted to pursue: writing. As long as he walked toward the mountain, he would be fine. I loved the story, so I thought that I, too, would walk toward this mountain of writing. But there was a problem. “Writing” is too vague. Like “happiness,” it must be defined to be pursued. Gaiman defined “writing” in his address, but I didn’t define it. And while I did eventually arrive at a mountain where I could be paid for writing, I see now that it is not the mountain that I wanted.

I have long been tempted to give up. I arrived, but I’m not where I want to be. But today I do two things. One, I admit that the journey I have been on was a good and successful experiment. I learned about myself. I grew as a writer. This was not wasted time. And I am working at a place that meets my needs at a time when our country faces uncertainty due to a pandemic.

Two, I refine my definition of “writing.” I still want to make money from my words. But I want those words to craft stories that resonate with people. That help them to find meaning and hope in difficult times. To entertain when they need a distraction.

Maybe this journey will lead to another mountain. Or perhaps it means I climb to a higher outcrop on the same mountain. But either way, I stand and start to walk once more.