The last time I wrote something (new) on this blog was 346 days ago. That’s almost a full year, for those of you who were not math majors or perhaps attended a state school. And according to “The Internets,” that’s 4 days longer than the gestation period of a horse. Good grief. Secretariat was created in less time than I have spent not writing.
And I call myself a writer.
Credit where credit is due, I have been writing every day. Plugging away. Hunting and pecking my way through hundreds of thousands of words; stringing them together to create sentences and paragraphs and headlines and blog posts and emails and brochures and websites and Tweets and more. But that’s my job. I get paid to do that. And I think that getting paid to write is different from actually being a writer. There are those who would disagree and who have stated that all you need to be a writer is to have written… But I’m not sure.
I love my job and I love the fact that I get to sit behind a computer and fill pages with words every day. But it’s not me. It’s not my heart on the page. Those are not my thoughts and beliefs and questions and desires.
Titles and responsibilities and vocation aside; the fact of the matter is I have neglected to do what I love to do for the entire gestation period of a horse, and that’s about to change.