I don't care if anyone doesn't read this.
Well, that's a bit of a lie - just a touch, though.
Why do I write? Why do I want to write?
Part of it comes from pride. The idea, thought, notion of being able to claim the title and be called a writer - or even better - an Author calls me. Beckons me. It's easy to want these things when they're already done, or when you say you're working on some creative project. But as for the actual doing, that's hard.
When I was little, the library in my elementary school was magic. I actually had trouble learning how to read well, and so libraries were a bit of a mystery for me back then. Oh sure, I loved being read to, or adventuring through the innumerable picture book tales... but I was embarrassed about not being able to read like everyone else. It frustrated me - and publicly shamed me in front of my other classmates and friends. I was in first and second grade, so it was kinda a big deal (and it still is, I think).
I owe an undying debt of gratitude to Mrs. Yorth, my second grade teacher, for taking the extra time, after school, to help me to learn how to read. My school, River Grove Elementary, also put me into a specialized reading class. Looking back on it all, I feel like I had my own Marvel origin story in that class... I don't really know what they did to me, but once I got out I was reading at a high school level - and soon after, at a college level.
I remember the day some time not long after I was out of that special class, I walked into the library. To this very day, I can't remember why I walked in there... because I'd usually pass it by... maybe it was a Scholastic book fair or something, and I was drawn in by the bright pictures... who knows... But I remember walking in to a place where only a second before had been like an empty room full of absolutely nothing... and then suddenly it had been transformed without flash or bang. I was now standing in a vast treasure trove - unexplored and all mine. I could look at endless row after endless row and know what I was looking at. I could read any book I choose (or not). I think this ability is lost on most people. The simple wonder - the marvel - of being able to do as you please, when you please... I also experienced this wonder with words, as I suffered from severe stuttering during that time in my life, too.
To get into the computer lab, full of all those glowing green-screen Macintosh computers, we had to stand in line along this library back row... which just happened to be where most of the fantasy was shelved. Since my last name begins with 'F' I was sort of jumbled somewhere in the middle of the line. So as we waited for the Powers-That-Were to do whatever it is that they did back in the early 90's, I would stare at the fantasy titles and wonder. It's funny. Usually I kind of don't like how I am generally shorter than other people, again thanks to my bout with childhood leukemia... the same disease which stunted my growth, had also been involved with scarring my vocal chords, as well as affecting my critical thinking... So when it comes to book shelves, the first thing I generally see is anything about midway up or slightly lower. I see the buried authors first. I remember seeing the Susan Cooper's (The Dark is Rising series); I saw the Peter S. Beagle's (The Last Unicorn); and the Patricia C Wrede's (The Dealing With Dragons series).
People will find your books. They will. My self-pride about writing and authorhood is just full of itself. The right people will find your work at the right time, and in the right place. You will probably never hear about it. You will most likely never know about it. But good stories have a curious way of transcending time and space. They slip out into the world and nestle into strange hands in unimaginable places. I should know - I was one of those readers. To this very day, there are still lost bookish treasures I'm still desperately hunting for - still gems which gleam in the darkness of obscurity, waiting once more to be reclaimed.
Good books are treasures. They are invitations sent out into the lost parts of the vast world. They are keys to secret kingdoms with hidden gates tucked away in unlikely places (like the threshold of an elementary school computer lab...).
So write on - who knows what will come of your next good book.
- Ryan
