Writing is Ruining My Life...

... by saving me from it.  The great irony of this blog is that the impetus for it, the feelings that inspire it, should be driving me to do rather than write.  I find myself wishing something would happen, something life-changing, so that I will have something to write about; the event itself is reduced to fodder for this ruthless hunger in me to analyze, recreate and retell.  The truth is that my writing voice speaks more confidently and more wisely than my real voice, but what if my writing voice is my real voice?  Think about what you love to do more than anything else and what doing this thing does to your voice.  Does it become a little stronger, a little louder, a little less afraid?  Is it less or more real than your "normal" voice?  When I write I feel powerful, but I am aware that this power derives largely from my ability to represent myself differently, to embellish and omit.  My answer to the popular question "If you could have any superpower, what would you want it to be?" has always been invisibility, as I imagine it would be for most writers (except perhaps sci-fi/fantasy types, who are a little more imaginative); the ability to hide but still be heard and influence one's surroundings (authoritatively, as one cannot be caught when invisible) is a writer's dream.

A writer's other (and arguably less realistic) dream is to be published.  Being published means that this voice exists somewhere other than in your head (or on a blog that other people kindly choose to read - thank you), and more importantly, that someone else thinks this voice should be heard.  Everyone I have spoken to about the publishing process has told me to prepare for a forest worth of rejection letters, and even after that, an acceptance letter may never come.  I don't know about you, but I do my best to avoid rejection, especially when it is unaccompanied by the promise of acceptance.  Allow me to put on my cape of wisdom and analyze that statement: rejection without the promise of acceptance is also known as life, and life is what's up.  So maybe writing isn't ruining my life after all, just as your calling, your greatest gift and burden, isn't ruining yours.  Maybe our perception of life is ruining our lives because we expect it to be a promise for something greater when really it is only what we make it.  Even if your calling is something that makes you feel removed from life in some way, the very fact that you feel called to do it indicates that you want to live, that you want to fill the blank page.  I am making a decision, here and now, to accept writing as a major part of my life rather than as an escape from it.  Could we make a deal?  I would love more than anything to know what your calling is and how you are trying to answer that call when giving up is far more palatable, or what is preventing you from pursuing it, or anything you want to say about your life.  If you will do that for me, I will write about us (without names), about how a group of people I know and don't know changed my life by giving me a small glimpse into their lives.  I would submit it proudly, and I would cherish every last rejection letter.  I hope to hear from you.