It was a rainy day on Wednesday, which means Grandma and I didn’t do too much galavanting around. We did get me a library card. It was cool to see the library where I spent many childhood days searching for knowledge. I remember falling in love with the Greek gods because of a book I borrowed from the children’s reading room. Leafing through a book on the zodiac, I became excited to discover I was a Scorpio and identify with it.
After that, we decided to have coffee at Dunkin Donuts. We’re having coffee and she asks me, “What if writing doesn’t happen? I mean every writer must want to be published.”
I get this question a lot. And it’s not like it didn’t cross my mind. Failure is always possible. “It will. I’ll keep working at it until I die.” Except I’ve decided to not accept it as the final possibility.
She didn’t seem to understand. I tried another way. “The only reason I get up is to write. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Everything else is just filler for me.”
She got quiet.
“Isn’t there one thing that makes it worthwhile to get up? One thing you have to do or else the day feels like a waste?”
I’m betting she has something, but maybe wasn’t ready to share. Writing is my purpose. Pretty much anything else I do is to support my writing or to allow me to write.
What is the one thing you couldn’t live without doing?