On being a writer...

Well, it has been a few days, though not by my own choice. If you are a writer, or if you've ever heard a writer speak about the craft, then you know what really being a writer actually means. You can write, even be pretty talented at writing, and not be a writer. To be a writer means that choice has been taken out of the equation. If you can choose to take a sabbatical from the language that ricochets around in your spirit, building up pressure until it erupts explosively from your fingertips, then the title of writer is not applicable.

I've met some people who are offended by that statement. I mean absolutely no disrespect by it. I make no assumptions about people's abilities or desires. You can be excellent at writing. You might even be a pretty good author (published or otherwise). But once choice enters into the equation, a writer you are not.

Trust me, it's not an insult or even a bad thing for you if you happen to fit the description of a non-writer. As I said, being a non-writer says nothing about your writing talent or your ability or likelihood to become an author. And there's nothing that says you can't become a writer, or that a writer can't become simply an author. I do, however, think it's more likely that we who write are born with the bug and will die with it.

Bug is a good way to describe it too. Or addiction. Yes, addiction is definitely accurate, clichéd though it may be. I have gotten up in the middle of the night, though I knew I would feel terrible the next day, to sate my need to scribe. It has made me late, forgetful, moody, ecstatic and has put me in a trance-like state that the outside world could not penetrate. There have been times when it has negatively impacted my work, school, and sometimes it irritates my wife, though she is generally very patient and supportive. Though it may not be nearly as debilitating as some more negative addictions, it is definitely a constant tap-tapping in my brain that only subsides when I let my fingers speak as they must.

So, next time a writer describes you as not one, be grateful. If you are a talented author you find yourself in an enviable position. You are blessed with our strength, but not cursed with our weakness. Of course, for us, our weakness reveals our strength. Not everything a writer writes is great, but a true writer is bound to create something of beauty sooner or later, for we do nothing less than bare our souls every time we put our words into a tangible medium, and in the universe, nothing is more beautiful than the soul.

Here is a pretty little muse I captured in a jar one evening. I hope you enjoy.


***** "Wha'd'ya reckon?" asked Buck, a tall, lanky human with a ridiculously brimmed cowboy hat and a six shooter at each hip, as he peered down the alleyway.

Ronald rolled his eyes as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Strictly speaking, I don't 'reckon' as you say," he said with a slight lisp as though his tongue were too big for his mouth. "I believe we should wait here for them to come out."

"Thtrickly thpeaking..." mocked Buck with a harsh whisper.

"Will you two stop!" hissed Lihoniel as she stepped between them and into the dark alley, cocking her slim and elegant custom rifle.

"Yeah, stop!" scolded Wilemina as she stepped by in the elf's wake, puffing her already chubby cheeks and pursing her lips in an exasperated sort of way. The moment would have been comedic, considering that the halfling barely stood higher than the two men's waists, but they were about serious business and no one laughed. Wilemina started to step down the alley when she noticed exactly how dark it was and scuttled out backward.

"After you," the minute rogue gestured to Buck, suddenly gracious. "But before you," she added to Ronald as she cautiously padded after the other two.

Ronald shook his head and pushed his glasses back up again. With a sigh he stepped into the alleyway. As he immersed himself in the darkness he immediately became aware of how tight it was. There was barely enough room for two men to walk abreast. He squinted into the blackness and could see a bit of light reflecting off of Lihoniel's golden hair and Buck's inappropriately obvious hat. He blinked a few times while he looked for some sign of Wilemina. As was often the case, he could find none. No matter what else he thought of the tiny thief, he had to admit she was brilliant when it came to disappearing.

As they went deeper into the alley the residual light from the street behind them faded, then went away altogether. Ronald began to have to feel his way along the wall. He wondered how Buck could possibly stand it. He probably had his hand on Lihoniel's shoulder, as she could likely see quite well with her elven eyes. A streak of jealousy crossed through Ronald's mind at the thought of Buck with his leathery, calloused hands touching the heavenly beauty that was Lihoniel, but he let it pass. He would prove himself soon enough and impress them all. Though they had been stepping carefully for only a few moments, the tense atmosphere made it feel like an eternity. Ronald was beginning to wonder how long this alley went on and why on earth anyone would erect buildings so close to one another when he heard someone whisper, "Ron..."

"Ronald!" he corrected quietly between clenched teeth.

"Would you just get over here!" Buck hissed at him.

He wanted badly to say 'over where?' but he just rolled his eyes and stumbled his way along the wall. He stopped when he bumped into someone. He broke into a cold sweat when he realized it was Lihoniel.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Never mind that," she said shortly. "There's some kind of door. It requires a code to get in and there's a security camera up top."

"First thing's first, get rid of that camera," suggested Buck helpfully.

"I would if I could see it," Ronald answered flatly.

"Well, use light, or somethin'. Isn't this your thing?" Buck sighed.

"Sure, and let them all know we're here," Ronald shot back.

Out of nowhere came Wilemina's small whisper, "In this alley it's probably got night vision. I don't imagine it's ever light here."

"There, ya see?" said Buck. "Now you don't have to worry about it."

Ronald's heavy sigh was punctuated by a sudden snap and a little spark. Gradually the smell of electrical smoke wafted under each of their noses.

"There," said Lihoniel with a hint of aggravation. "Camera taken care of. Now, if we could shut the two of you up for a moment, maybe we wouldn't alert the whole building to our presence."

After a moment of abashed silence a small light suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere. Ronald peered at the door, which was now plainly visible. He could see a small electronic keypad in the place where he would have expected a handle. He was a bit surprised at the level of sophistication hidden away in this back alley of the inner city. It suddenly occurred to him that these might not be common thugs they were dealing with.

He cleared his throat soberly. "I, uh, think I've seen one like this before," he said nodding to the keypad. "Should be just a few seconds." But a few seconds turned into a few minutes, then ten, then fifteen.

"How's it comin' there, buddy" came Buck's deep voice shattering the intense silence.

"It's coming," answered Ronald absently, truly too preoccupied to be irritated by the interruption. Suddenly there was a click and he added, "Ah, here we go!"

It was not Ronald's skill, however, that opened the door. The scrawny young man looked up at the enormous form of a half-orc in, of all things, a finely tailored suit. The massive humanoid grinned down at him and said, "Please, master, allow me to show you the way out."

As the huge creature reached for him there was a muffled crack and it suddenly leapt back howling. Ronald heard Lihoniel cock her rifle and recognized that she had just shot the half-orc with her silenced firearm. Not wanting to give their sudden opponent another chance, the young man jumped away from the door. He was not fast enough, though, as the half-orc came barreling into the alley brandishing a shiny chrome desert eagle. The shot reverberated back and forth between the walls making it sound like a much larger explosion. Ronald spun as the shot clipped him forcefully in the shoulder.
The half-orc yelled triumphantly and took aim at Buck next, but he did not get the shot off. He stumbled suddenly as Wilemina appeared out of the shadows and ran her wickedly-edged bowie through his thick hamstring. He half turned dumbly to see what trickery had befallen him when Buck began emptying his six shooters with surprising speed. Lihoniel's second shot whizzed over their challenger's head, barely missing him.
Ronald half sat up, wincing painfully at the hole in his shoulder. He was badly hurt, but he would not sit this fight out uselessly. He grit his teeth and fished something out of his pocket. He shouted out unintelligibly to the rest of them and threw what he was holding at the half-orc. A small dart bloomed from the creature's cheek, which started to smoke almost immediately.
The half-orc was truly enraged now. He leveled his massive hand cannon at the prone young man, but this second shot flew wide as the diminutive halfling once again tore into the beast with her now bloody blade. The once fancy suit he wore was now beyond salvage, riddled with holes and soaked with blood. The half-orc looked little better himself. He was moving sluggishly and the acid arrow was beginning to eat away his cheek. He looked like some kind of macabre zombie. This time Lihoniel's shot was true, and it seemed to be too much for the creature, who finally keeled over.

"Yee-haw!" Buck shouted loudly.

"Ssshh!" shushed Wilemina.

"Well, they already know we're here, darlin'," Buck pointed out. As if someone had heard this, the loud sound of an alarm emerged from the hallway beyond the door.

"Indeed," agreed Lihoniel. "We need to leave. Grab him," she commanded, pointing at Ronald who was still sitting up and wearing a dazed expression.

"C'mon little buddy," Buck said as he pulled the small man to his feet. He laid Ronald's good arm across his shoulders and helped him quickly down the alley with Wilemina in tow. They exited the dark crevice between buildings and were greeted by the sound of a siren very close by and getting closer.

"Who calls the police for gunshots in the ghetto?" Ronald asked weakly.

Buck chuckled, "Even more interestin', why would they come?"

The four of them hurried down the sidewalk and skirted around a corner to hide in another alley as the police drove by. Lihoniel looked extremely worried.

"We need to find a place to hide," the elf said breathlessly.

"I thought that's what we just did," Buck answered smartly.

"For a few days, jackass," she sighed irritably.

"Oh, right."

She sighed again, "This did not go at all how I planned."

"Don't worry, darlin'," Buck reassured her. "We'll work it out. In the meantime, let's find a place where we can fish this slug out.

Ronald laughed, though it was more of a sputtering cough. "You won't need to," he said. "I'm pretty sure it went straight through."

"Well, you still need to get that bandaged," said Wilemina giving him a severe look. "Might even need to see a doctor."

"I can see that ER paperwork now. 'Reason for visit: shootout'." Apparently Ronald was very funny when severely wounded.

End