vocation

\ vō-ˈkā-shən

  • a summons or strong inclination to a particular state or course of action | especiallya divine call to the religious life
  • the work in which a person is employed
  • the special function of an individual or group

Don’t know for sure if it’s a vocation (or vacation?) or a mission, or a whim. Or if it’s nothing. But I love to write. And once I start and become almost absorbed by it, it comes non-stop. Almost to the detriment of my writing, as I cannot keep up with the dialogue, scenes, people … and write everywhere at all times — this is a theme of mine. So I have drawers and boxes filled with paper, notepads, notebooks, scraps of anything I can get my hands on, and write on.

To write or not to write … that is the question. Well, to do more than write with words is another, although not a question, but a quest.

after William Shakespeare

I began writing by chance, pure and simple chance. And I believe I still write the same way, truly have no idea why or for what, but intend to find out.

My first real writing, besides scribbles or ‘poems’ (some of which I am embarrassed to mention), happened on a train while I was commuting to my then job in New York City — that was a three and a half-hour ride at the time, which I took on Monday or Tuesday, then returned home on Thursday or Friday. I traveled a lot then too, so I wasn’t in the city week after week. Anyway, one day on my way to work, I wrote to let out sorrow and heartache, just wrote and sobbed until it all stopped.

I found the pages I had written, months later, and was dumbfounded at the dialogue — it was a conversation at a dessert shop, between two women whom I had never thought of or knew. Sitting here writing this, I believe they were both me … wished I had known this then.

I wrote about this epiphany on the HOW IT HAPPENED section in the Like A Blue Thread page.