Why I Write: My Answer to Orwell

TypewriterOn the day that I picked up my high-school diploma, I picked up a copy of the newspaper that usually soaked up my drool during homeroom.  For once, I flipped through the thing.

More of a newsletter than a newspaper, the only “real” news story reported the selections for the senior class poll for your typical “prettiest, smartest, most athletic” nonsense.  Yet I was proud to learn that I had actually ranked third place as class clown.  I remain proud of that accomplishment to this day.

I never asked anyone to vote for me.  I didn’t vote for myself.  In fact, I told those seated around me to vote for someone who completely lacked personality.  People thought I was genuinely worthy of this accolade.  In the process of mainly trying to occupy myself, I had entertained the masses during a period of drudgery that most people hate and never want to re-live.  Sure you can interpret this to mean people thought I was an obnoxious bozo–and I’m sure many did–but I inevitably found a calling in it.  In college, I tapped into it.

My first semester at the College of Staten Island inspired me to pursue a career in writing as an English major.  Since then I never question(ed) this foundation, despite the agonizing and gasping state of employment in my industry.

I did, however, grow more pragmatic and fully realized that no employment listing called for an “entry-level novelist.”  (If you find one, please send it to me.)

Around 2006, the news industry seemed like a relatively healthy industry.  Covering the New York Rangers for a newspaper seemed like a decent way to live.  So let’s pursue a career as a journalist and double-major in communications, right?  Two years later, I was having discussions in my classes about why my industry was apparently dying.

Why not change majors you ask?  At the time, I figured that somewhere in the world, someone would need to hire someone with writing skill.  Not everyone can write.  Trust me, I have read lots of stuff by people who thought they could.  To be completely honest, however, I simply couldn’t stop doing it.  I genuinely and sincerely love it.  In fact it’s more of a need.  If a day goes by without feeling my finger tips tapping out some sort of missive, I develop a profound sadness and my anxiety level shoots through the roof.

I created this blog because I realized that no one can stand between me and writing.  Even if a publisher or editor passes on every word I write, it’s still something I’d continue to do.

And besides, I was never really good at math.

 

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