Guess what? I'm not a writer.

When I turned 40, I thought it was too late to become a writer.  I was too old, and people don’t just publish their first novel after they get old.  And then I read that Kurt Vonnegut published his first book when he was 42.  (Perhaps not coincidentally the answer to Douglas McAdams question about the meaning of life.)  And when I turned 42 a couple years ago, I still had the (delusional) idea that I could write and publish novels.   I have written two novels, started two others, turned one of the novels into a screenplay, and written another original screenplay.  They’re probably not very good; I got about 50 rejection letters for the first one I sent out, so I gave up.  It’s horrible to have people tell you they don’t want what you have, especially when publishing companies choose to print garbage like 50 Shades of Porn (or whatever it’s called). 

You see, I wrote a bunch of essays, posted them online, wrote the manuscripts … and I have nothing to show for it.  I’m still a school teacher, not a writer, and I am goddamn sick and tired of being poor.   At least if I was a proper writer, with an agent and projects in the works, I could cultivate the poverty for the bigger picture.  As it stands now, as a teacher, I will never become wealthy.  (Hell, I won’t ever be able to properly pay all my bills.)  I will always listen to adolescents actively complaining about my chosen profession.  I will hear “this sucks” over and over about everything all the time.  I will constantly be bombarded with interpersonal conflicts and hormonal breakdowns.  People will talk at me all day, without ever caring what I am dealing with as a person.   

I think it all boils down to the fact that I would like to just … be.  I don’t want to have a scheduled day anymore.  I want to have a more relaxing, peaceful existence of creation.  I am tired.  I just don’t know how to be the version of myself which exists in my imagination.     I don’t think people should have to be the same person their whole lives, but it seems like once we choose a profession, we get slowly & inextricably tangled up in it.  Especially with teachers, it’s almost impossible to be creatively mobile, because schools pay on a scale.  How long I stay is seemingly more important that how I do my job.  That’s pretty stupid, if you ask me.  (Which no one ever does, by the way…)

And …I’m starting to complain again, so I’m out.