Whether writing is a hobby or a profession for you, you know that writing can come easily to you when you are passionate and knowledgeable on what you write about. You may write about controversial topics, such as political, sexual, religious or life-death stuff. You may require courage to brandish a particular viewpoint and even risk your job, finances, safety or relationships to get your words published. But I realize now that though writers can be visionaries, leaders, and cultural heroes, I think we may be nothing but philosophers, entertainers, therapists, or worse, mere rodeo clowns, distracting the world from what really must be done.
I am guilty of this, I’m afraid, of being a writer with conviction and heart, but not one of action and deed.
I’ve failed to rouse myself to live in the real world – to take risks, to bleed, to cry, and to get hurt. I’ve deprived myself of a chance to make it big, to take a leap of faith and cross the line that divides those who live in a world of paper words, and those that live beyond me, the real people who take chances, are made of blood and guts, and who commit themselves to do or be something.
At the end of the day nothing happened, nothing changed. My world still exists in my head and the rest of the world remains untouched in any concrete or discernible way. My pathetic rant, apology, and whinefest is just another day for this writer. I write to live but I never really get to live beyond my words.
As much as I adore the acts of writing, reading, researching, and marketing, one day I will take action and feel amongst the living. Until then, please accept my apology.