|Pictured... 'The Process"|
So, this is a writer's blog. This idea, in and of itself, is something I struggle with. It's a paradoxical thing. On the one hand, I love reading other writer's blogs; they offer insight, an exchange of ideas, and that peek behind the curtain at 'the process'.
On the other hand, I feel like me writing a blog, as a writer, is a pretentious thing; why would anyone be interested in my ideas or a peek at my 'the process'. How many out there feel the same way? How many of us struggle with imposter syndrome? Lack of confidence? Fear?
First thing's first; I am a writer, I have come to terms with, and accept that fact. I can pinpoint the moment I started creating to the Summer of 1986. I started writing prose in Elementary school. Whether it was derivative fantasy slurry or not, I couldn't say. I have lifelong friends who, at the time and since, are equally creative and inspire and encourage at every opportunity. So yeah, I write and have written for a very long time, thus, I am a writer. Phew, that felt... ok.
I'm prolific, yet the evidence is virtually non-existent (save for a handful of board game reviews that my other half posts on her Instagram and on BGG). 12-year-old Steve wrote and contributed to a photocopied booklet of short stories (I don't even have a copy). I wrote a handful of video game reviews for a LONG dead website. I wrote a handful of video game reviews for a long-dead local coffee shop rag. I wrote a couple of hundred DVD and Blu-Ray reviews for a now-defunct website (I had the first Avatar Blu-Ray review on the web!) I wrote a batch of video game reviews and news stories for another (see a trend?) now dead website. I wrote half a dozen screenplays lost in a hard drive crash. I wrote a few collaborative projects here and there that remain buried (but I'm pretty proud of), and I've written countless pages of pen n paper role-playing stuff; game systems, settings, characters, lore, oh god.
See? I write! I am writer! Goddamn it! Hear me fucking roar!
Right now, I'm probably at my most ambitious; I've got novels, man! None finished - shut up. I've got three works in progress. Four or five other concepts in the ether that I feel are worth exploring. One of them is quite far along and is likely going to be the focus of this little blogging experiment for the next while. So what's the point of this ramble other than glorified self-promotion? I've just never seen myself as a writer. I've certainly never used that term to describe myself. I'm sure there are many out there who hesitate to use the descriptor because the term conjures a certain image. My vision of a writer was always Stephen King chilling out in his haunted New England mansion, slumped back in an easy chair as he churned out terror. It was Neil Gaiman in his tweed jacket and tussled mane tapping on a MacBook Air in Greenwich Village. Maybe it's JRR Tolkien dipping a well-used nib into a vial of ink and meticulously scrawling in old Elvish, or Robert E Howard in a small Texas bedroom banging away hungrily near an open window. It's Hemingway, naked and shitfaced in a humid hotel room with a typewriter. Who am I to even consider the thought of calling myself a writer next to these people? What claim does a middle-aged dude in PJs, slumped at a breakfast table, a slice of buttered toast in one hand, smartphone in the other, have on that descriptor?
I'm writing. If I'm not, I'm thinking about it.
You probably are as well. That makes you a writer. So shut up complaining. Stop feeling like an imposter.
Not that you'll listen, I sure don't.
Until next time,