A Real Writer

"I know real writers and I know people that write for a living; they aren't the same thing."

In the hierarchy of amazing compliments gifted to me, being called a real writer is right up there with the time a librarian told me I had very brave taste in books.

Minnick just gets it. He knows what I'm trying to do with my writing and why I do it. He understands about giving your work away and I don't have to explain it. It's just so refreshing to talk to someone like that. I've been reading over a story of his the past few days, which is how I ended up in a two hour conversation with him in the computer lab. Things were kinda all over the place, but there are a few moments I want to keep.

One was him noting that I seemed happier. I didn't really notice, but, now that it's been pointed out, I am happier. A lot of it has been reflected in my postcards; several of them have been far more cheerful than my usual fare. And I know it's because I have someone IRL to go back and forth with the way we have been.

Two was being told that these cards of mine are something special. I already knew he felt that way, but it's nice to actually hear it.

Three was the line I started with up there - hearing that he thought I was a "real" writer, a person that writes for myself and because I want to, not someone that writes to be famous. I don't think I could write for a living. I don't want to write because I have to eat.

Now he has me listening to Springsteen's Born to Run and I'm going to send him a rock opera of my own in return XP I'm not sure how we got on to that topic, but whatever. It's been a good night.