What Is Best In Life? Conan might have a different answer than me. Not sure, but I really don’t like to hear crying, like ever, even if my enemies are driven before me and all that jazz. This is a question I ask myself. Hell, I think its one that everyone asks, at some point. My guess is they ask it too late in life, but I’m sure it gets asked.
What is best in life? I definitely have an answer. But what does that have to do with writing, you ask? For me, a lot. Your answer might be different, that’s fine. It is, after all, your answer. My answer is that it’s all about setting goals to reach a level of satisfaction and contentment. Writing, for me, is the key to all that. Telling stories, living each day with that being my solitary goal for means of survival. To have the stories, I share support every other aspect of my life.
It’s no big secret; most writers dream of it. Writing for a living seems like a pipe dream, but that’s my goal. I want people to hold onto my words in their minds and hearts to see the idealism bleed through my cynics heart and help them hope for more along with me. I see it more and more seep out in my words. This thing hides in everything I write. Hope. It’s both a gift and a curse. Sometimes, just believing in a possibility can sting when it seems distant and impossible, but I find it hurts less than crushing despair. I am becoming annoying in my own head to myself with positive thoughts. But I’m turning around and finding it more pleasant to hope than to see the world in blues and blacks.
The journey of this pursuit, just brutal. I feel like Conan turning the grinding wheel after being forced into servitude by the folks that slain my parents with every click of the submit button on a query. Each rejection, a flash black to a murdered family member, or new stripe across my broken back. Someday, I have faith, I will be chosen to be freed from the giant wheel and fight my way to glory in the pits, by Crom, the pits of the publishing world.
I know with each character, each word, each sentence, each paragraph, each chapter, each revision, each query, I draw closer to a move from battered barbarian to finding my Aqualonian throne to sit as a publish king. Time is coming, and it will happen. Not sure when I do know as long as I’m breathing, I’m writing. And that, my friends, is what’s best in life.