The Point

Dear Reader,

It would be bad to begin with a lie in the first line of the first post on this website. I am here to write, but to say, “I am a Writer” would be a lie. Here is how I know that:

A sample conversation based on real life conversations I’ve had with people I’ve just met:

Them: So, what do you do?

Me: I work for the central office of a major Protestant denomination.

Them: (nodding as if they know what that means) Oh, that’s great. And what else do you like to do for fun?

Me: I’m a knitter, I crochet and cross stitch, I like to bake, and I like to write.

Them: Oh! You’re a writer?!? What do you write?

Me: (blathers on about the type of writing to which I aspire while internally kicking myself for saying I do something for which I cannot produce receipts)

And…scene.

The truth is I want to say “I am a Writer”. I want to say that very badly. I am constantly thinking “what a great idea, I should write that down” and then I don’t. I observe and reflect and draw amusing conclusions that I believe others would likewise find amusing via printed word, but I never put pen to paper. I think in prose and I feel like a writer (at least I think I do, I wouldn’t actually know) - but I never write. So, ipso facto, a Writer I am not.

I have been not writing for years. Decades, more like. The desire to write has been strong and consistent since adolescence when my eighth grade Language Arts teacher wrote in my yearbook, “I will always remember your ability to write with such voice”. Such a compliment that was so unexpected, and put in writing no less! It cannot be denied, it has been written! Before then I casually considered writing little stories and fan fiction, but never took seriously any positive feedback I received on any work. After the yearbook, a small sprig of self-esteem took root: maybe I actually can do this writing thing well.

The tiny positive self image of me as a Writer proceeded to grow in the back of my mind until it became my ultimate goal, one I tried to pursue but neglected to tell anyone about. Sure, I told a friend here and there but never sat with anyone to fully communicate my need to express myself through the written word. This, I told myself, was a goal that I would pursue in private and would only tell people once I got something published. Then all shall see and will not be able to deny that I am a Writer! This, I was certain, was the only way to achieve success and avoid the twin embarrassments of FAILURE and REJECTION. (I was pretty sure FAILURE and REJECTION were going to be part of the journey no matter what, but I was going to do all I could to avoid enjoying them publicly.)

That was the plan, but life finds a way to get in the way. First there was school, theater commitments, then college and summer jobs, friends and family and a boyfriend, all of which took my time away from the writing desk. Then post college there was work, more work, graduate school, and yet further work. Who has the time to write in this kind of reality? I had my hands full just existing.

But of course those are only the legitimate things that stopped me. In all of my attempts to hone my writing skills what I actually developed was a great talent for excuse-making and distraction-finding. Anything that would take my attention away from the empty page became my new focus. A short and incomplete list of the things that I have allowed to stop me from writing over the years includes: moving homes, job hunting, a car accident, a breakup, bingeing television shows, bingeing movies, getting a cat, having a mental breakdown, a global pandemic, getting a new cell phone, and writing a list of every county’s average income in the United States to see where the poorest counties are even though that information is readily available online.

The excuses are plenty, but after twenty years they are starting to wear thin. Nowadays I’m not looking for a new job, I don’t plan on moving any time soon, and my mental health is (mostly) in order. I have a cat - to get another one would be pure chaos. I’m running out of new shows that interest me to binge. Every year I say I’m going to make homemade Christmas presents for everyone on my list, but am more and more aware of the pipe dreaminess of that idea. TikTok was almost certainly invented by someone avoiding being a writer and I have lost countless hours down that rabbit hole, but that’s not a solid excuse. If I’m really going to not write, I need something more permanent and less boring. I’m even trying to find a boyfriend to take up my extra time, which is really as low as I’m willing to stoop at this juncture.

With excuses this thin on the ground there is only one thing to do: start writing.

Because if I don’t do something to make myself a real writer someday I will die. (I will die anyway, but stick with me here.) I will be dead and there will probably be a funeral and maybe someone will stand up and say, “She enjoyed a long career as an office drone, but she always dreamt of being a writer.” Thank God I’d be dead because I’d hate to hear that. I’d much rather someone say, “She enjoyed a long career as an office drone, but have you read her website? What a mentally unstable nutcracker she was, but a great writer.”

And that brings us to the point. This is why I’ve paid for this website and wrestled with all of the formatting tools. I’ve dug through all of my photos to try to find a few that are suitable to accompany my posts. I even went for a long walk listening to the same song on repeat to bore myself while still being active to trick my brain into thinking about post ideas. It is why I am venturing onto the internet to blog in the age of Twitter like the millennial I am - to make my lie into the truth. To be able to say “I am a Writer” and look forward to the follow up questions.

So here we are. This website is the beginning and the motivation (meaning I’m paying for the thing so I damn well better use it). This is where I intend to deposit all of my hitherto unpublished thoughts, hopefully polished up and organized in a fashion that mostly makes sense and doesn’t offend, at least not anyone I care about.

Welcome! Thank you for joining me. I hope you enjoy your stay.

More to come.

Sincerely yours,

Megan McKay, Writer