Am I Really A Writer?

Am I really a writer? Do I truly love to write? I was hit with this question lately while thinking about my career as a “writer”. While I certainly write, that is not my primary objective. In other words I don’t write simply for the sake of writing.

Amazingly, I do not enjoy all types of writing. If I did, why am I not a journalist or a technical writer? Admittedly, those professions would probably produce a steadier paycheck than fiction. That’s because writing is not “the thing” for me. Not at all. In fact, even creating this blog post is somewhat difficult for me to produce.

No. I am not a writer. I am storyteller who uses the medium of writing to express the ideas I have been given. Others use music, paint, metal, clay, or some other material or method to express the “thing” in their mind that must be made. I am not talented in those other ways, so the written word it is.

You know what else strikes me? The stories told in all these mediums inspire other stories in all the other mediums. To quote a cliche, tossing out an idea is like “throwing a pebble into a pond”, creating a ripple effect of ideas. A book can inspire a musician or painter. A sculpture can inspire a poem. A painting can spark an idea for a book. Each of them can also inspire a like work. It just goes on and on in an endless outward reaching cycle. The potential for creativity that spirals out from one story is truly limitless. And dare I say miraculous.

And what is the source of all this creativity? I believe it to be the author of all things. Or God to those not familiar with “Christianese”. The one who spoke – yes SPOKE – the world into existence. All creative thought began with Him, and will continue through infinity.