We all dream to do great things, to be great people, to absolve great issues. But the problem with greatness is that it requires all one has to achieve. And if one is unwilling to offer up every bit of effort they have to offer, then they will be sorely disappointed when they wake up.
Wanting to be a writer can only last so long. At some point, there's a cutoff where you either are or you aren't; desires have absolutely nothing to do with it. And i feel like i'm at that point. Being that i haven't written more than one measly (if not beloved) short story in the past year, it would seem that i am little more than someone who wants to be a writer, but never really will. And that's just not quite acceptable to me.
Therefore, i have decided the only logical thing to do is get down and dirty and actually write. Of course, i could just wake up and let my dream fade as my consciousness comes to. But i'd like to believe the world would miss out on something of value if i did that. Either way, i know my life would feel a notable absence of some variety.
So give me time and i will give you life. Or at least lively art.
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