To be a writer, I thought, was a way I could become rich and famous. My wife had that conviction more than I did. With the professional production of some of my plays at the Dallas Theater Center and a positive review appearing in THE SATURDAY REVIEW OF LITERTURE, she even announced that to her parents. And when that prediction never came true, I don’t think I ever totally let go of the idea. I always thought that some day my work would catch on. And when, after years of trying and it still hadn’t happened, I had to forget the idea that I would ever become more than what I am, relatively poor and struggling. Yet I’ve been very fortunate and successful in many ways. I’ve also learned struggling can be counterproductive.
So I’m a writer. Simply that. Ah, yes, a writer. I don’t dare say I am any less of a writer because I haven’t made big money from my writing, as I keep writing for writing sake. But I can’t say I would object to receiving a royalty check or two. (In the past, I’ve gone on short tours to promote my work) However, even though the discipline involved with having to make money from my writing may have been good for me, the last thing I wanted was to attract a mental block by concentrating on that (Making money from writing, for many writers is a benchmark of success). I never tell myself I’m writing to publish, for fear that that would overwhelm me. (This is one reason I haven’t approached my friends in the publishing world about my writing. Until I started blogging, I hadn’t talked much about it. I’ve simply waited. And waited. And waited for recognition to come. And gradually I realized my unassertiveness had also been counterproductive. However I don’t buy into the claim that the additional time the money would’ve bought me would’ve made me a more productive writer. No way, Jose!
Just some thoughts I’m having today about fame and success. Good morning, Randy Ford