Monday, August 19, 2013


I want to write. Seems simple. Probably should be. But it isn't... This could be really deep, and probably really personal. And long. Yeah, definitely long. I thought I'd inform you before I really got into it.

Since I was little, I've written stories and always read books with my own little twist on them. It's always been my dream. Especially not too long ago, I got really serious about finishing and publishing. Overall, though, it's kind of been my thing. So much so that half the people I'm acquainted with I'm acquainted with through or for writing. It's become a huge part of my life. I label myself as an unpublished author, because that's what I always wanted to be. I wanted to create my own little worlds and characters; create stories with epic battles and quiet, memorable moments; to show the world the scope of my imagination. And getting paid for it? A dream come true.

But, writing is a religion. All on its own it encompasses the time and mental capabilities required to keep faith. Seriously, when you're a writer it's an integral part of your being unlike any other hobby or occupation. Because, as a human being, you're always thinking about something. Even if that something is mind-numbing nothingness. But, as a writer, you're mind is always dually thinking and imagining. There's literally a different lens life is viewed through. Like any religion would, writing acts at the forefront of anything a writer does. Which is why when someone says "I'm a writer," it's not only an occupation, but also a religious affiliation (whether they deem it that or not).

I (and plenty of others, I know) understand how this is. Writing is therapy. Writing is punishment. Writing is celebration. Writing is a goal. Writing is a career (future or no). Writing is central to the mind. Writing is what you look forward to doing the next chance available, what you forget to do because you get wrapped up in other things, what you devote your time to, and what you get angry with when shit hits the fan.

I'm getting somewhere, I promise. Before a specific radical reversion, I was a writer. I didn't understand that it was such a defining religious standpoint then. So if anyone asked me, I was an atheist. I wasn't really an atheist, I just didn't know what I was. (I knew I was a writer, but like I said, I didn't understand what that meant yet.) So I looked into all these crazy atheist ideas and things and I just grabbed them because they just felt right. Not all of them, usually just the more inventive ones, but that's how it works when you try to adapt one religion for another.

I had to stop writing for a few days, because of a conference/camp thing. I figured I'd just get it over with and then hop right back to my writing right afterwards. But then there was a whole radical viewpoint change that went on there, and now I'm seeing some things the way I should, and my head's straight. Then I came home. I didn't touch writing for a while. I needed to catch back into the groove of life again, or some garbage like that. Subconsciously, I knew. I just didn't want to admit it.

I was avoiding a confrontation that would seriously decide how the rest of my life would go.

I still am. I've yet to write again, and I haven't even opened the Scrivener file with my novel since I've gotten back. But every day it weighs on me. Some days more than others, but it's always a problem in my head. Because I'll never be able to serve God and Writing. I might be able to try for a while, and I may even succeed... for a while. "No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other." It's an inevitability that I dread, but won't be able to avoid.

And now the decision rests on me, as it has, of what to do. Pursue my dreams and abandon God, knowing where my ultimate fate will lie; or follow God and sacrifice writing, looking back somberly for all of my mortal existence at the branch of my life that didn't really lead anywhere because I cut it off.