Note:
This is the view from my desk.
Being a
writer and getting published give me a great deal of pleasure. Sure,
it would great if it made me rich, but as I go about my non-writing
business, so I can scratch out a living, I often have a smile on my
face. There's this satisfaction that nobody can take away from me.
I can
never explain this to people who don't have it.
How did
I end up a writer? I'm not really sure.
Decades
ago, in a creating writing class, the teacher said, “If we're lucky,
one person in this room will get published.”
Guess
what? It was me.
And I
don't really know why it was me. I wasn't the best writer in that
room. It might have been that I wanted to be a writer more than the
others. I did dedicate my life to it. Made sacrifices. And I never
gave up.
I've
always lead a quixotic life, tilting with windmills, like a crazed
explorer searching through the jungle for a fabled lost city. It's
the way you make dreams come true.
It ain't easy. Not everybody can do it. Most people never have that
smile I get when I think about what I've done. It's easier to give up and lead a normal life.
What's
it like to live this way? I recommend the documentary House of the
Tiger King, with Tahir Shah
demonstrating what it's all about:
If you
don't have time for that, here he is talking about the film:
Meanwhile,
it may look like I'm sitting at my desk, doodling away at the
computer, but I'm really tilting with windmills and searching
through the jungle.
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