I had a choice on Sunday morning. I was up all night writing and didn’t really sleep. Part of me wanted to go to the church, needed to go to church. The other part of me just wanted to get drunk. Tha part of me that wanted that drink won. I hated myself as soon as I took the first sip but I needed it because without it I think the voices in my head would never go away.
There’s no doubt I can write. I’ve been doing it my entire life and I’m only getting better at it. I’m actually starting to get paid for it on a consistent basis. A guy came to me with a script idea, he said every other writer he’d spoken to needed six months for “creative” purposes. I told him I could do it in a month because I can. I see the story in my head before I wrote one line, one scene. I’ll be up at 3am talking to these characters like they’re my best friends.
It worries me sometimes. The fact that I’m drinking more and writing more like I need them to go together. In my mind and heart one can’t work without the other. I miss my friends, the ones I did have at least. I’m telling these secrets and fears to readers instead of calling one of them.
There’s so much isolation in ambition. So much dissapointment in success. You want to know what’s ironic? I have no doubt I’ll reach levels as a writer very few men have. I only doubt that I will be around to see it.
~ Demez F. White