Saturday, September 02, 2006

If I Was a Writer

I’m not a real writer. I have a job during the week that I go to. So, I’m not a real writer. I’d be scared to be a real writer. If I was a real writer I think I’d need to be able to write something interesting every time I sat down. If I was a real writer I’d be making money with my writing. I’d be talking to publishers and asking about contracts. I’d be able to point to the collection of books on my book shelf with my name on the spine. I’d be able to say, “Those are the books I wrote”. If I was a real writer.

If I was a real writer I think I’d think of the books I wrote as my offspring. They’d represent little pieces of me that I’d released onto paper. Sort of a photograph of me. Not really of me, and yet of me. Sort of like children.

If I was a real writer I’d be more caring of the time I spend writing. I’d be pissed off if somebody rang the doorbell or called me on the telephone and wanted to talk during the time that I spend writing. “Oh, well I saw your light was on and knew you were home, so I called.” I’d turn the phone off and put a sign on the door that said, “I’m working. Come back at 5:30 pm.” Or, maybe the sign could say, “Writer at work. Please do not disturb. Leave a note and I will call you when I’m done.” That’s nicer. That’s what I’d do if I was a real writer.

If I was a real writer I’d have a special coffee cup that I could use. In fact, I think I would have several special coffee cups. Just to sort of lend an atmosphere to the idea of writing. I only drink one cup of coffee every day and if the cup were special somehow I think that would lend power or oomph to the whole idea of being a writer.

If I was a writer I’d have special notebooks all over the house. I’d have one with beads on it. I’d have one with cats on it. I’d have special notebooks, notebooks that were fancy on the outside with lined paper on the inside that I could use to pen in notes as I think of them. Better than post-it notes that get stuck to other things and eventually go missing. “Oh, shoot. What was it I thought of last month? Where did I write it down?” If you only have 5 special notebooks it’s got to be in one of them. Easy. Five places to look.

If I was a writer I’d do most of my writing on a computer. Thoughts flow easy there. Thoughts and fingers move in sync. There is a rhythm. It flows. Sometimes I would go back to pen and paper, but if I was a writer my tool of choice would be a computer to compose the words that move sometimes like water or like music across the screen.

If I was a writer sometimes I would close my eyes and be more private with my writing. I’d cut off the distraction of screen and only have my thoughts and the tools of my fingers moving on the keys to record what it is I am trying to say.

If I was a writer I’d keep digging. I wouldn’t stop. I’d touch the first thought that comes up, but I’d keep worrying it. I’d be like a terrier with a favorite squeaky toy. I’d push it with my nose. I’d go put it under the couch and sit there with my nose to the flap of the slipcover knowing my toy was just behind it. I’d be the only one who would know and I’d sit there until the boy comes in. Then, I’d quick push underneath to grab it and bring it out and maybe the boy would chase me. That would be fun.

If I was a writer I wouldn’t discount the oddball thoughts that come my way. I’d look at what I’d written and think for a minute, “Well, that was weird. I wonder where that came from?” And, if I was a writer I’d think maybe, just maybe I was able to connect to that great unconscious stream of life that flows around us and picked up on the thoughts of a real terrier and what that terrier was thinking about. Weird, hub? No, I don’t think so. If I was a real writer I think stuff like that would happen more often.

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