Paper or plastic: A deeper look at publishing

As many of you know, I enjoy writing.  For me, it serves as an outlet of sorts as ideas form in my mind, get shuffled around and begin to take shape.  Writing is a conduit into other worlds, realms, dimensions and lives unavailable in my current physical state.  How's that description for deep thinking?  I would quote myself, but that's simply self-righteous and way off topic, so pardon my transgression.

I enjoy telling stories; some believe I embellish (Kerry Lee) and create fairy tales from real life events.  Personally, I consider my stories to be accurate reflections of true events, colored in real life pastels for your amusement.  Much to the disdain of a few who have read what I think of as a humorous autobiographical look into a lot of silliness that has occurred over the course of my lifetime, I continue down the path of publishing peril.  What this means is someone has read my conglomeration of stories and warned me not to pursue publication.  That warning has been heeded because I need to do some (a lot of) re-writing.  Taking the excellent advice my friend has given me and using that advice as a gift (after licking my wounds from the resounding verbal kicking he gave me) has been beneficial.  His "gift" has allowed me a lot of time to reflect on my writing style and how I present my stories in written form.

I've also been forced to ask myself "why," as in "why do I do this?"  Why would I take time to put into words what I can articulate orally so people can read it?  Writing has become, or has been for a long time, an addiction for me.  Pen to paper or keyboard to monitor is no different than a painter and his canvas.  This is how I create and I thrive on it.  But there's a bigger piece to the publication of my words and stories that gave me pause for some introspection.

Seeing our, or my anyway, work published in hardback or electronically is a rush.  Knowing people are reading and enjoying what I write is a form of self-indulgence and ego boosting like no other.  I can admit my linguistic narcissistic pleasures to everyone as my epiphany has fully revealed itself to me.  As with most twelve step programs, admitting you have a problem is the first giant leap you'll take!  I wonder, however, if other writers will admit the same or at least take the time to self-reflect on why they write?

So there it is--you have looked into my writer's soul and seen my Achilles heal.  I feel better now, but this albatross will once again drape my neck and the words will have to be written.