I enjoy writing. Most of it ends up being for myself, some of it ends up on this blog, and some of the fiction gets reserved for perpetual tinkering. I have always wanted to be a published fiction author, and still believe I’ve got that in me.
I have been considering nonfiction. My years spent writing for newspapers sculpted my talent for sharing facts in a direct and simple fashion. I’ve always been curious—a lifelong learner—and enjoy sharing what I learn. Throw in a dash of cynicism and a healthy vocabulary and I think think I’ve got the basic ingredients for a successful book. The final ingredient for this literary delicacy? I’m going to stop worrying about not writing a book.
I spent a lot of years struggling to make up some idea and get it on the page. I have files on my computer that are little more than a title and a few paragraphs about some vague idea that bubbled up and popped years ago. I’m just going to write about what interests me and if it develops into something that’s great. If it doesn’t, then that’s OK, too. At least I got to experience the joy of writing.
That’s the key. Writing should be one of life’s joys, not a chore. If it’s a chore, then you aren’t meant to be a writer.