I Wanted to be a Writer

 

I Wanted to be a Writer

I wanted to be a writer, but I didn’t know how to start.  I decided that the key to being a writer was having a special space set aside for writing.  So I turned our guest room into a den, with an antique desk, a wall of bookshelves, a window with a view of the garden, a new PC, and an ergonomic chair.  After that, all I had to do was write, but I just sat there in my perfect writing space, unable to write a word.  Then I added a microwave and mini-fridge to the writing space so I wouldn’t have to go down to the kitchen to eat.  Then a coffee maker to keep me awake.  I put a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer in case I needed to be a drunk to write, like some best-selling authors.  But for some reason, I still couldn’t write. 

Maybe there was more to being a writer than I thought.  I enrolled in a creative writing class at a community college.  The teacher said my work lacked believable characters and a coherent plot.  Her other students were equally inept.  She said it wasn’t our fault, it was the public school system.

Still determined to be a writer, I bought a how-to book called How to Write a Bestseller Without Even Trying.  It covered the basics of grammar and syntax, and the importance of spelling and punctuation.  Those basic skills were over my head, so I quit trying.  I gave up on my dream of becoming a writer and went back to my old job teaching high school English.