| Dinner party or just about anywhere, the | | | | ignore it. They procrastinate, they obfuscate, and |
| conversation usually goes the same way. | | | | they pretend to the world and his wife that they're |
| "What do you do?" they say. | | | | "Working on a piece right now." |
| "I'm a writer," I answer. | | | | Don't believe them. What they mean is that they've |
| "I always wanted to do that," they say. | | | | had an idea, but they don't really want to do the |
| I wonder if brain surgeons or rocket scientists get | | | | work to put it in writing. The only way to do it is to |
| the same response. | | | | sit down with your means of expression, be it pen, |
| After I've stifled the urge to scream, I ask why | | | | word processor, or big thick crayon, and write. Keep |
| they've never done anything about writing. | | | | writing, and don't stop until you're happy with what |
| "Oh, I'm too busy." | | | | you've produced. |
| And there's the rub. Everybody is always too busy. It | | | | Now. Repeat after me. |
| is purely a matter of whether you've got the will and | | | | "Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write!" |
| the commitment to see your name in print. | | | | Now, if you want to call yourself a writer, go and do |
| So here is your mantra. Chant it at all times, and | | | | something about it. |
| repeat it to boring types at dinner parties. | | | | It doesn't matter what you write as long as you |
| "Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write!" | | | | start. Your brain gets used to the idea, and soon |
| As with all good mantras, it bears closer study. What | | | | writing becomes second nature. Remember the |
| it says, in a nutshell, is that you'll never be a writer if | | | | mantra, and it will serve you well. |
| you don't write. Obvious really, but most beginners | | | | "Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write! |