I Don’t Want to Be a Writer…But I Am

I don’t want to be a writer but I can’t stop writing.

That’s a lie.

I can’t stop writing in my head. I rarely write anything down. Instead, I lie awake at night until all hours of the morning while snippets of stories, true and not so true, float around in my head (this is probably the cause of my undying love of coffee).

Obviously, I do my best thinking at night but I also stumble upon some wonderful epiphanies while in the shower. I have often longed for the invention of waterproof paper to record these wonderful ideas that pop into my head while I shampoo. Alas, once my hair is rinsed and the water is turned off, the brilliance is gone never to be found again in the same way.

In my head I have chapters upon chapters, vinegette after vinegette. I have tales and truths that will never be told. In my possession I have a black notebook with 200 sheets of paper contained within. Each page is filled with half spun tales, harebrained story ideas gone awry, and memories from my childhood that did not make it to fruition on paper. Nobody will ever read the darkest parts of my soul.

One might wonder why I have two writing jobs along with my “real” job. Another mystery revolves around why I am getting a degree in English with plans to go to graduate school. A pertinent question would also include: why the heck am I taking a creative non-fiction writing class? The biggest question: why don’t I want to be a writer?

I will never be a prolific writer. Although, that idea does not seem that difficult these days. Apparently, all one needs to do is write a young adult novel involving sparkley vampires or teenagers fighting for their lives in a dystopian world. I don’t want to do that. I do want to do that. I don’t know what I want to do.

With my whole life ahead of me and the world at my fingertips I don’t know what is in store for my future. I have so many worlds in my head, so many stories yearning to be told, so many memories that are asking for a voice. Perhaps one day I will let them speak for themselves. Right now, however, I am content with keeping the voices in my head, living in quiet obscurity. I might not get a full eight hours of sleep while they are waiting, but at least I can still sleep at night knowing they are safe.


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