“What kind of films do you make?” Porn, I think.

“Just films about different things.”

I nod.

I mistake his evasiveness and momentarily forget my own.

As a writer, I seldom talk about a piece until it is finished—sometime after its final revision, submission, rejection and/or publication. Dissecting language, character, voice, and plot are far more intricate and intimate conversations than those I would have with people who would ask, “What are you working on?”
People who would not ask are writers.

People who don’t know me must think I write porn.

“What do you want to do after graduation?” A friend asks.

“I just want to write,” I say and mean—but not really.

I do not want to write manuals, business letters, or the story of someone else’s life.

I want to write short stories with characters who reflect people and the choices we make and the consequences we live with. I want to write creative nonfiction pieces about injustices, opportunities, life. I want to make people think, act, cry, care. Power issues aside, I want to incite a change.

I write more personal essays than I am comfortable with. I sift through the cyber pages of my life and while I justify it by writing press releases during the day, I cannot justify it when people ask, “What are you working on?” And while I think, a piece that shows the choices I’ve made on the path to who I have become. And I say, “Something for my blog.” I mean—nothing of consequence.

My eality—my cyber footprint—is a bit somber. My reality on the other hand, is full of promise and opportunity and always facing forward.

So while I smile as I think, What would Jesus Write, I mean it’s time I got back to writing not just about my world, but about your world, our world—as I see it.
Originally Posted: May 19, 2009


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