I always wanted to be an author, with the trappings of bestseller novelists from the 1950’s. But life hitched me to a different plow, and I furrowed row after row until the world finished and spat me into old age. My thoughts returned to youthful dreams.
But, of course, things had changed. The internet put legendary publishers and bookstores out of business. When a child, authors were admired and respected, now they are everyday Joe’s who pour their guts into digital ones and zeroes, that only exist when a reader has them up on a screen. The realization dismayed me, I could never be the author I dreamed.
Accepting the brave new world, I found myself facing a truth: writing, the act of placing and moving fingers on keys, were the things I needed. I only thought I wanted to be an author. All along, I wanted to write.
After a life filled with what now seems pointless errands, I enjoy a comfortable chair, a keyboard and a screen that allows fonts large enough for me. I type every day. My goal is to tell stories. Not everyone will enjoy my stories. I hope some do. It is a wonderful life.