All my friends are writing books. ALL of them. Or so it seems. And they seem to be churning out the chapters like it’s nobody’s business. So why can’t I?
I mean, I’ve had the title picked out for over TWO years already! And I have started the book EIGHT times…EIGHT! But it seems, just as I get into the first chapter, Life throws a new revelation at me; the Universe adds another epiphany to the already-impressive collection of universal epiphanies it has given me so far. And with that, the book changes, instantly, and what I have written is out of date; obtuse and without foundation.
A lot like I was, for many years. Too many years.
Look – I respect that many of the great artists died penniless; their art largely unrecognised for its greatness. This is not the route I want to take.
I’ve tried living as a penniless pauper – and it’s not great. I want to write books that themselves will write me cheques. Large ones. You may scoff and pour scorn on that ambition; denouncing commercial success as undermining the brilliance and intent of the art of writing, but then, I doubt you are in business for altruistic reasons, yourself.
I just want it known, that I want to write not just one book – but many! Hundreds! And I want the books to pay the bills, and more.
So why can’t I?
© Dave Luis 2014. All Rights Reserved.