Its just that I can’t decide whether or not it would be difficult to be a writer for life — like — as a living. Its just that I would really really love it, if words could just spill and I could just get paid for it. But the thing is — people need more than just words to read. People want a story, an analogy, some sort of fact — there is more than just these ramblings I love so much that goes into being a writer. I’m terrified that I wont be able to hold the words in long enough to sort them into a story that would keep you reading. I always think I wont have the stories even.
But I do.
I have a lot of stories I could tell you about. Ones of my life, ones of other people’s lives. I always thought I’d write fairy tails. But I don’t have those stories. I thought I would — I think I should. But the stories I have are of wars, and of big cities and small girls, and of children in Europe. They are true stories… and I know they would be good enough for the people around me. But the one thing about true.. is that then you would know very intimate and quiet bits of my life. It’s easier to tell a story when it isn’t your own. The thing about the stories, is they would be no good without everything that was felt and that happened. So am I brave enough to let you in? And would you even read if I were?
I have this tick though, when God gives talent — it isn’t supposed to be buried. Sometimes I feel like He gave me so many amazing experiences just to use the talent. Or maybe he gave me the talent to remember the experiences… So I’m all confused on whether or not I can be a writer, but I think I’d like to be… if I could.