As a picture framer, I have seen many artists pick up palette, pencil, or pastels about the time of menopause or the more manly mid-life crisis. What amazes me is how many writers do the same. Most of us who fall within this category have had words building up inside of us for so many years that if we didn’t spend them talking to anyone within earshot, they simply traveled the nervous system circulating and bursting in little synapses to recluster in dangerous hoards that threaten eventual explosion. I truly suspect that if they did a little more research on the recorded cases of spontaneous human combustion, they would discover that all these unfortunate souls were unfulfilled writers, and the charred remains of walls and floors would yield a slew of clues in letters spattering the scene.
Thank the good Lord for those who have the ego or drive or intelligence to follow their inner callings without spending a lifetime sabotaging those hidden desires. Sometimes, all it takes is a couple pats on the head to give someone the confidence to realize that they may really have a talent that’s worth pursuing. Sometimes it takes a kick in the butt.
Right now, I feel good. I also feel like a wind-up writer whose “on” button jammed. I truly don’t believe I can be stopped at this point, and maybe I’ll still need a little kick now and then, but more likely, a little oil when long way down the road I get a little rusty. But just as I have been set back onto the straight and narrow path to Writerdom, I feel my own excitement extend to others who I feel share the need to express themselves in creative form. It is often taken perhaps as overbearing or pushy, but if I see the spark there, I need to fan the flames. In my own steamrolling manner I may be obnoxious about it sometimes, but you know, I’ll learn eventually to be more subtle and still remain persistent.
Now share the joy; go out and pat a would-be writer on the head.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology