A writer that’s not a writer

I graduated from Slippery Rock University in 2006 with a degree in English Creative Writing Nonfiction (that’s a ten syllable degree). For a while I was writing quite often as the gardening columnist for a local newspaper. And occasionally, provided content for a gardening magazine or two. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette used a few of my articles, and I actually thought I might end up at my own desk in an air-condtioned office writing for a living. Maybe not for the Post-Gazette but something along those lines.

That was then, this is now: I’m a writer that’s not a writer.

Hell, I don’t even blog anymore! What happened? The old cliché “life happened” might be the answer. I thought writing would be a part of my life, it was for a while but it sure ain’t anymore. Perhaps scheduling a time each day, maybe an hour or two, would get me typing again. I’d have to make it a priority and a commitment. Commitments and priorities? That’s serious stuff.

In the meantime, I’m paying for a degree that I’m not even using. How sad is that? When I do find a rare moment to type a sentence or three I feel a little less wasteful. But then I get overly concerned that nobody’s reading it so why write it? And the vicious cycle (sorry, another cliché) starts over!

Everything has already been written anyway.

The MEANING of life is to find your gift. The PURPOSE of life is to give it away.

~ Pablo Picasso

3 thoughts on “A writer that’s not a writer

  1. Hi there TC – so nice to “connect” via blog land again.
    I like that Picasso quote – and I can relate with what you shared here.
    I know so many folks who went to school for this and end up doing that – and it takes a lot of contentment to “be” and find out path (life really does give us detours and curve balls).

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