Writing is not a profession. Hell it'd be the last livelihood for me if I ever was to pick one. For I don't believe I could write to sell. Or to please. Writing is innate. Like living. How would you like it if I told you how to live just as long as I paid you for it ? A free bird like me couldn't take it - can't take it. The keys are punched without the fear of a consequence. Which is what makes them whatever little it does make them. If you were to govern my words as an audience, I'd fail you. I'm a renowned failure.
I don't quit. I drag along. Why you ask ? Because I can't be a failure no more. I can't fail at this. It's not about taking a stand at all. It's about letting people down and I think I've done enough of that. Personal opinion, you see. And an opinion is what makes a writer. Take that away from me and I'm nothing. Just a light wind blowing along with the leaves in fall or wait, are the leaves being blown by me ? We know not. For it all comes down to relativity and that's precisely when it gets a shade too shady.
I can do a pretty killer shady though. I was built for it. The tint of grey in my canvas is so much more beautiful than all the pastels that were ever painted on it. Maybe it's my comfort zone. Who knows ? We know not where these steps lead us. All I know is I need to keep one in front of the other. And somehow I manage to walk. Someday maybe I might even run. Stick around for my sprint though, wouldn't you ? I might be the gold medal you never cared to bet on. I might just surprise you. All of you.