September almost qualifies for this week’s prompt, but not quite. So, instead, I will write about how my September is going, so far.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
I am watching only the fourth episode of the new Late Show with Stephen Colbert. His guest is writer and author Stephen King. I am listening to these two brilliant guys, Stephen speaking with Stephen, as they discuss writing. I am left to contemplate writing: Stephen’s and my own.
Now, what makes me think I should even bother with the contemplation of my name and his in the same sentence?
This week I can finally refer to myself as an author.
I have read many things about writer VS. author. What makes someone a writer? What makes them, me an author? When is it okay to call myself the first or the second?
King has written dozens of books. His newest book of short stories is being released in November. What an astounding catalog of writing the man has produced. He writes. He is an author.
My first short story to be published is out now, in print. It was finally placed in my hands just the other day.
I will never forget the feeling. I wonder how that feeling has changed, for Mr. King, from the first time to all these stories and years later.
I contemplate what being a writer means to me. It means that I write. I don’t just talk about it, but I put my money (words) where my mouth is/are.
I can string sentences together, words, correctly spelled…you get my drift.
It doesn’t yet feel natural to me, fiction that is. Writing comes very naturally. All so uncomfortable, unnatural, even though it feels, at the same time, like I’ve been doing it all my life.
I contemplate with confusion.
I hold the book in my hands, flip through the pages, turning to where I perceive my words to be, as I’ve been told how many pages in, my story can be found. I can’t see my own writing. I am told it is there, but any book could be handed to me, anyone telling me the words are mine. I would never know if it were true or not.
So it’s only there when I believe them, when I believe it and let the reality wash over my heart and my mind.
I don’t know, can’t possibly stop contemplating what it must be like to have the kind of creative and artistic success that Stephen King has had.
I don’t know how many more times I will experience my own publication, as I did in the month of September, in the year 2015, but I will never forget this week. Never, as long as I live.
September and this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, inspired by:
Linda’s blog and the writing prompt, “temp”.