I like writing… most of the time.
I hate writing… some of the time.
Since I was very young, I have liked telling stories. I can remember making up stories about spaceships and monsters and telling them to whomever would happen to be willing or captive to me at that time. Most of the time the unfortunate victims of my stories were my family.
Of all the people that listened to my stories, it was probably my mom that was the most supportive of my efforts. Maybe she saw something in me that needed to be fed or nurtured, but she helped me. I can recall when I was about ten that she bought me a nice laptop desk. Remember, this was in 1978 and there were no PCs or laptops then. There was good old pencil and paper (my mother did not let me use pens until I was older because she felt that pens were too permanent and you needed to be ready to edit.)
When I was a little older, she gave me her Sears electric typewriter. It was a huge beast weighing in at at least forty pounds. I would sit and bang on that thing all night, if I were given the chance, and some times I did. I can recall one night I was typing and then I heard this banging on the wall. Turned out it was about two in the morning and the wall my desk was against was where the neighbor’s bedroom was, and apparently he was not pleased with my burning of the literary midnight oil.
To date I have yet to have anything published in the mainstream. I have a couple items on Amazon and am working on several more that I plan to flood Amazon with here in the near future. But I am not a person that you would walk into a Starbucks and drop my name and see anything more than a confused look. You will not walk into your nearest Barnes and Nobles and see my stories anywhere.
But I keep writing. I do it because it is almost an addiction at this point. I keep a laptop with me most of the time and a recorder with me often. If I am not in a position to write down an idea, I will make an audio recording that I can go back to at some point in the future. I am feeding the addiction, but it is one that I am mostly proud of.
It is not easy to do what I do, at least not for me. I can write for hours and most of the time I will walk away from my work feeling like I have accomplished something. Then there are the times that I will write for hours and look at what I have put out and think, “What in the hell was I thinking? What is this S**t?” But I never delete my work, at least not anymore. I only did that a couple times and trust me, that is a pain worse that the realization that what you wrote may be on par with Mailer or McGonagall.
But in light of all this comes the realization that though my love of writing, I may have created a prodigy. My son, who is only four and a half as of my writing this, has the talent of the tale. He will sit and talk to us about zombies, monsters, spaceships and anything else that is going through his little imagination at that time. For his age, he is a pretty skilled storyteller too. When he tells his tales, he is very animated and he stories are extremely descriptive. He will go into details about the people, characters and locations when he is telling you these tales.
It is my hope and fear that he will be, as I became, and aspiring writer. Someone that shares the gift of storytelling with those around him. I only hope that he is more successful at it than am I.
So keep your eyes out for stories from my son… Gideon S. Wright, due in your local book stores in about fifteen years.