Writer Ramblings: Better Late Than Never

I’ve been dreaming of sharing my writing with someone for two decades. 22 years to be specific. I started my first short story when I was 12. Anyone doing the math knows now I’m not young anymore, but I’m not old yet either. I’ve got decades left in me. I’ve talked about my past writing experience before and how I walked away before even finishing my first manuscript. It was almost done, but I had no training (I was still in high school!) and had no idea where it was going, and even though I knew how to end it, I couldn’t jump the hurdle of getting there. In a moment of insanity, I burned it. After several years of tinkering with the story off and on, I have begun to rebuild that old manuscript. I even plan to write it this year. A while back, I wrote a few pages of it and shared with some friends. It got me to thinking, after so many years, why am I not writing?

Oh yeah, because it was a child’s dream. There are dozens of stories in my head, all screaming to be written and shared at once. What did I do? I tried to drown them with responsibility. I have kids, a wife and a career. Well, the career thing is good enough to get by, but let’s face it, “The Office” is funny to watch, but notice the characters involved aren’t laughing. It’s not the same to live it. Years rolled by, I ignored the nagging voices tugging at the frayed threads of my sanity.

Then I snapped. I was just killing my free time gaming. I was pretty hard core too. Had some top characters in World of Warcraft and was rising in ranks in a prestigious guild. I was unsatisfied, immensely. I can’t remember what night it was, but I asked the question. It was the kind of question that gets people off their behinds, to stop looking at their dreams as something elusive or make-believe. Something I felt only children could do. Not for the real world. I asked myself after earning a shiny flying mount one night, “Why do I really care about this dragon? Who else really cares?”

Then I listened to those voices and decided, after years of learning and tinkering, why haven’t I taken that leap? My stories were screaming to be heard. So I reached in, and found one that I felt was the best one to start with. The one that had developed the last few years from combining two other stories before swallowing them and moving on to become its own story. My muse was demanding my attention. For the first time in my life, I’m not settling for just getting by. I don’t even care if I sell a single book. I have to write my dreams. So here I am. Posting about what I should have been doing years ago. Better late than never, right?