It’s a strange life being a writer sometimes. Well, it’s always a strange life, but sometimes I think about it. I mean, I sit down every day and write nonsense. I use my imagination and make up a story. I pretend I’m various characters and I visualise what on earth they all do in my story and then I write it down.
I’m creating something for others to enjoy that has no more value than what others deem it to be worth. It’s not essential to life, it’s not being demanded specifically, and no one will really care if the story ever comes out or not. It’s exceptionally obvious as a writer that I’m unconventional to the mainstream mindset, or am I?
Most other jobs have a similar level of value to the overall development of life but we tend not to think of them that way because we are conditioned to believing that they’re proper jobs. If someone works in an office for a company which does something unremarkable then they have a proper job. If someone is paid by somebody else to move something which no one cares if it moves or not, then they have a proper job. If someone digs holes and another person is paid to fill the hole in, then they have proper jobs. But a writer?
The only reason I’m saying all of this is that I was totally conditioned into thinking in the mainstream way. I didn’t know anyone in my circle of friends who lived outside of the box. The creative people all created as a hobby. It took a huge risk on my part to turn my back on the conventional role and embrace the unconventional, but now I’ve done it, all of a sudden I’m exposed to loads of others who have made similar leaps of faith.
The more I think of it, the more I’m convinced that it’s better to create something unconventional for yourself, than just be conventional for somebody else. There’s more freedom and opportunity for happiness being unconventional, and life’s what you make of it, right?
Until next time…