I wish I could be like Ray Bradbury, who wrote the first draft of Fahrenheit 451 in nine days. I wish I had a fiery passion that ignites into a story on the page. To write furiously, desperately, needing the words as much as they need me.
I’m not like that.
When I graduated high school, I wanted to be a web designer. My brother came up with my business name. Steadilee. It’s amazing how brothers know you so well. He saw a quality in me then that I have since discerned as a key component in my life as a writer.
Make no mistake. I want to write. The desire is here. I wouldn’t have lasted this long without it. I’m just not wired to write like that. Perhaps there is a way to rewire, but that’s a different story.
Nosce te ipsum. A maxim dating back to the ancient Greeks. Know thyself. So fundamental to the human experience that I couldn’t resist including it in The Return of the Flame.
I am continuing to learn about myself as I grow older and experience more of life, but one major theme emerges about how I approach my work. I am consistent. I’m good at following rules and sticking to plans over time. I’m steady.
Some say that’s better for the writing life. While I battle with an expectation to do more, to be like writers I admire, consistency, even when it begets small developments, works. Steady steps towards a clear destination.
If the tortoise hadn’t won the race, he still would have finished in style. Because it was never really about the race. It was about rising to meet the challenge, the ability to make meaningful progress, and enjoying the path.
The brother who gave me Steadilee is one of my biggest fans. Like many fans, he wants me to do more and to be more. To get published, to find readers, to unlock my true potential. I know. He’s a good brother. And in a loving brother way, the patience I have for my career frustrates him. Yet I know myself. And ultimately, he knows me, too.
I’m a slow burn.
It turns out this might be what it takes in such a competitive literary landscape. Becoming successful isn’t an overnight affair. Definitely not with writing. Besides, a writer is best when refined. Time allows a writer to see more in the world, read more, gain more insights, write more, write better, write on.
One of my goals this year is to focus on output. These journals are part of it. As is my continued pursuit for an agent. “The Day the Earth Saw Red” is another. As well as writing more stories to publish one day. Cultivating my writing and storytelling knowledge and skills can only take me so far alone. As a friend once told me, art is only art once it’s shared.
My brother told me recently to do whatever is going to get me in front of people soonest. Find community. Create readers. Sharing my time and stories may open me up to unforeseen opportunities. Being seen and received may open doors I can’t yet see, and once through them, may push me harder, make me reach farther. Rewire me, even.
It’s not about having an unyielding, relentless fire in me to write, but about pairing the desire I do have with other people.
I don’t have to be like Ray Bradbury. I must be myself. I must know myself. I must share myself. And I know the flame he held is the same one in my hands, even as I write this. It must be exposed to the outside air, and in the wind, it has the potential to blaze.
Onward and upward,
Lee
