Thursday, February 10, 2011


I'm going to sit down with a girl today who wants to be a writer. Actually, she says she already is a writer and no one, no person, no piece of paper can tell her otherwise. Some people would call her naive, and maybe she is. It is my job to ask her question after question and determine if she is, in fact, a "writer."

But I've never believed that you can do that. Look at a handful of papers, stitch together a couple conversations, and place someone in a category. What a limited existence that would be.

I was at a bar one night and sat with a woman who, according to her various degrees, is a writer. She teaches classes and has traveled the world and has been divorced several times. She spoke of the world as if she had seen it all and nothing was capable of shocking her anymore.

We all know there's supposed to be a beginning and an end. I hope that until the very end, I am open to possibilities and I always hold onto that passion that is mistaken for naiveté.


Nick Kimball said...

I love this post.

.beth ann. said...