I love to write. My mind races most times, not in anxiety or in circles, but noticing things. My brain searches. Its made me notice things over my 43 years that alot of people don’t I think. For a long time, it was a curse, but ive come to learn that its a blessing.
When I was in high school (of which I was on the 5 year plan because I was expelled as a junior, and came back to finish at 18) I loved creative writing classes. I didnt know how to type, but I had a lot to say. Creativity was also never really my problem.
At 40 I found out I liked to write. Like, writing was theraputic. I also learned to type in high school, and I found my racing mind can keep a thought long enough for me to type it. I’m glad I started a blog at some point, from notes I took from my first motorcycle rides I kept in a log/journal in 1989 on my honda magna.
Since then, I’ve thought about my dream job. It’s writing. I live in reality, and know that most writers starve and are supported by their women, or are single. I can’t do that, but truth be told, I’d love to tell stories. Documentaries of the old days, with research and accuracy. With love, struggles and triumphs. God, I’d love to write for a living.
Kurt Sutter is one of my heros. not because he wrote sons of Anarchy, but because he thinks like I do. He’s harsh, rough and can weave a story of all those things.
This is from his blog: It fires me up. Might never leave my thoughts, and might be my dying regret on my death bed. I also might write every single day because It inspires me.