I never wanted to be famous, not saying that I am, or I ever really will be, but it was never the thing that started my fingers tapping. In fact, to this day, when people ask to meet me I grow very nervous. Before events, I’m a wreck. In my mind, I stumble over my words with a thousand different imagined conversations. I actually watch myself trip and fall over every question someone might ask me, much like the dream of going to the first day of school nude most of us have suffered through at least once. No, fame is not something I desire.
Money was not the motivation either. Granted, we are Americans and we cling to the “American Dream”, but for me, my dream has always been to be able to stand on my own two feet and to provide for my children while standing on them. Let others chase the dollar sign and flash their ridiculous trophies of status. I’m happy with a few extra perks and children who have no worries. And rhyming. I seem to have a love affair with words. Who knew?
So if it wasn’t for the fame or the money, why am I climbing this jagged-edged cliff? Insanity? Maybe. Mostly, it was for an escape. Mine and yours.
Just like when I write, when people read it’s an escape; a new world to explore. Sometimes the new world is meant to be better than the reader’s. Sometimes the new world is meant to remind the reader of how much better theirs is than they knew. Sometimes, just sometimes, the reader isn’t meant to be sure which world is better. That’s the joy. That’s the thrill of writing. When I write “the end” for me, it’s just the beginning for someone else.
I am providing an escape for people who just need a few minutes to themselves. I am helping someone relax at the end of their day. In a way, I am telling thousands of strangers I care. That I understand. I’m “touching” people I may never meet, and when I stop to think about that, it’s eternal in ways only words can provide. The messages and letters telling me this, your “thank yous”, and even your angst is my paycheck.
For me, that’s what being a writer means. It means reaching down deep into a pit of emotions and bubbling the same pit to the top with one chapter at a time. That’s a writer’s world and their responsibility to the world. We provide little comforts in a world where comfort has become something of a guilty pleasure with the stacks of responsibilities we have placed upon our shoulders.
No, I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want wealth with its glass trophies of worth, but one day, maybe one day, I’d like to be someone’s favorite author. That’s my goal, because then I will know I have succeeded in my world.
Marie F Crow