It’s not that he’s a jerk. I adore my friend wholeheartedly and accept him for all his flaws – of which there are many that drive me completely ’round the bend. When he asked me this morning, “Why are you doing this word thing again?”, I should have just told him that it was a bet for charity because I knew what was coming. Better to keep it to myself than to have him laugh outright when I told him that I was writing my book, the book I’d always wanted to write.
However, I’m well-trained in obstinancy. Years and years of being told that I’d never make it as an international umpire, being told I’d never make it past x level, that I was ridiculous for traveling to a foreign country on my own dime for months on end to umpire – unpaid – in order to get better. I mean – who does that?
I do. Especially when people tell me that it’s stupid and that I’ll never succeed.
I don’t ask myself if I’m meant to be a writer, any more than I asked myself if I was meant to be an international umpire. I’m doing it because I can and I will.
I’m just lucky that no one’s told me that there’s no way I’d ever successfully jump off a bridge because I’d march out and find the biggest one I could and jump off that fucker with ever ounce of my being just to prove them wrong.