It’s been a dream of mine to be a professional writer for as long as I can remember.
I’m 49 years old. I make my living as a warehouse supervisor.
I made exactly $0 from writing last year. Rough estimate – probably $400 total over my lifetime.
It’s not like I’ve been slaving away like Charles Bukowski over a typewriter getting rejection after rejection after rejection.
I’ll try for a bit, then quit. Then try for a bit, then quit.
Because I’m not William Shakespeare, and I know it.
Now I’m wondering why I ever gave a fuck about that.
No, not wondering. I have a deep seated fear of others thinking I’m stupid, of others laughing at me.
My ego (thinks that it) just can’t handle it.
At the same time, I enjoy getting content out there that helps others improve their lives. I don’t have to be William Shakespeare to do that.
But I do have to get content out there to help others improve their lives.
This morning I signed up for Four Minute Books. One of the summaries I read covers Stephen Covey’s The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I haven’t finished it yet, because the first lesson that the summary offered hit me like a freight train. It was to Do The Funeral Test.
One of the questions to ask yourself: “For what do I want to be remembered.”
I’d like to be remembered for being someone who “persisted until he succeeded, despite the internal obstacles he had.”
So how do I do that?
I fucking write. I put my writing out there. No matter how imperfect (which is just a polite way of saying “shitty”) it is.
Then I remembered a story about a ceramics teacher, and found a good article about it: If You’re Stuck Creating Content, Remember The Ceramics Teacher
The point of the story is that, unless you are naturally gifted, you need to produce massive quantities of your art before you can hope to create quality.
I’m going to do that. And I’m going to do that publicly. I’m done hiding.
(Bullshit you are. You’re gonna quit again. You always do.)