We live in a society that really, really likes its dreams. You see it everywhere, from the TV Lifestyles of Awesome to the much more subtle water cooler rumblings every time someone wistfully sketches out their lottery-winning plans. We make big decisions for the pretty pictures in our heads that get us through the day.
I can freely admit that the last entry was a bummer, and that someone trying to eke out a little motivation to keep writing might have read it and thought, damn, that guy sounds a little dark and down today. So this time I want to talk about the successes, or at least the lessons.
The thing about writing is that, from time to time, you must confront the simple fact that what you’re writing – and, perhaps, have always been writing – is shallow, boring tripe. Stories stitched together out of internalized cultural tropes that don’t have a whole lot to do with the weirdnesses of real life.
In this age of Bluetooth, I no longer get odd glances when I talk to myself in the car. I get contemptuous glares, as my traffic distractions are clearly going to kill us all. If people knew my secret shame, however, the chain-the-madman panic stares would never end.
Hi. My name is Robert Warren, and I’ve been writing professionally now for the better part of twenty years, and it occurred to me that you and I haven’t been properly introduced. Welcome. Glad to know you. There’s some drinks out in the kitchen, please make yourself comfortable and let’s chat.