What makes a Writer

I'm a writer. But to avidly say "I  am a writer, I must avidly write." Oftentimes I'll be writing in my journal and think, I wonder how Sylvia Plath would have written that. I wonder how she would've phrased that. How was her first heartbreak? I feel like my life is mundane. I'm not road tripping. I'm not living on the streets. I don't have a drug addiction. I'm not visually impaired. I am a Caucasian female just trying to make it.

I imagine Kerouac and Thompson, driving, writing about the parties and illegal drugs and the girls. And here I am like, "Well it's Friday, I've had three beers, I'd better go to sleep, now."

I mean, a writer is a writer,  right? But the reason why we love Kerouac so much is not only the way he writes but also his stories encompassing off the wall experiences. I try not to get bogged down. I try not to think about it. I try to just keep writing. Years from now all my writings in my journal could be an autobiography. But if all my journal says is, "Omg, its Monday. I hate my job. Well its Tuesday, only four more workdays till the weekend....etc" What kind of autobiography will it be? 

Plath and Kerouac wrote for themselves, and entertained others in the process. I, as a writer, don't have to entertain anyone. Is my journal even entertaining to me? As long as I fulfill the promises I have made to myself as a writer, all is right within the world. So if I publish a book. Awesome. If I don't, I still know the words got out. And it feels so much better setting them free than leaving them locked inside me.

When I think about all the poets and authors I love I imagine them as teenagers in their angst writing in journals very similar to mine. I mean look at Anne Frank. She was writing for her, instead, her words changed the world. She will live on in english classes for years to come.

My journal reads something like,

"It was so cold when I woke up this morning. Zach is still waiting to hear back from the detailer. I don't even care what it is. I just want us to be together in Virginia, or Florida, or an igloo, or a cave."

So maybe, I'll never be among Anne Frank. Hopefully not, because we don't need a repeat of WWII.  Maybe I'll never be a Sylvia Plath, because I'm not keen on putting my head in an oven. I'll not be a Bukowski or Kerouac because drugs are some serious shit. I yearn for the passion they have as writers. I want to be a passionate writer, and if not that, at least a passionate something.

I want to be so wrapped up in something that I love. I want a hobby that stays with me for years. My friend does pottery and its absolutely beautiful and gives her such happiness. I feel like I fall in love with something but then it kind of fades or I fail to complete my hobby goal.

 On Monday, I love yoga and I want to become an expert yogi. On Tuesday, I want to be an art journalist, but I don't have cool paper to write on. On Wednesday, I want to complete a half marathon. So I write a plan in my calendar dead set on completing it. On Saturday I've already missed two work outs. Its like I can't commit to any activity for longer than a couple days. Its the same for writing. I'm desperately passionate about being passionate but simply cannot commit. Maybe I haven't found the right hobby yet.

Regardless, I'll continue to write, both publicly and not. I'll continue to travel. I'll continue to try things and fail because life is short and if something isn't fun, isn't it kind of a waste of time?