Do you know how I knew I was supposed to write? Because I was almost entirely certain that I wasn't capable. My whole life, things have been pretty easy. School, jobs, everything just came and went without me paying it much mind. I don't say that to brag, though you know I'm certainly not above it. I say it because it's just true. And it's important because it explains where I am now.
I do realize there's a good chance that I'm an idiot of the highest order for following writing for this reason. I just wasn't used to a challenge, and that always intrigued me.
So here I sit, some four years later — yes, I wrote my first script four years ago — wondering what this pursuit of distress has taught me. The short answer is nothing.
Boy, you can always count on me for a few uplifting words, huh? I tell you I've dedicated myself to four years of writing and I've got nothing from it. Awesome.
The part of the story you're missing is how little writing I did for about three and a half of those years. The idea of a challenge always caught my eye, but I used it to steer clear. Writing was hard and fulfilling, so I did it just enough to say I did it. I even moved to LA with the idea that once I was there I would write.
You don't want to know how little I wrote out in LA. Let's just say it's similar in length to what I've written in the last two weeks.
Boy, does it feel good to get that one off of my chest. For so many years, I was a writer who never wrote. What an impossibly wearying task it was, pretending I was making such progress on projects that weren't really being written.
I'm proud to say that I'm now one of those writers. You know, the crazy kind that actually writes. I have the page count to show it.
And that all seems to be the long answer to what I've learned over these last four years.