I thought becoming a writer would bring the freedom to write whatever I wanted. Hero’s, villains, adversity, plot twists. Delighting the reader, constrained by only the imagination.
Who wouldn’t want to be Lee Child writing the next Jack Reacher novel? I certainly did. My personal weaknesses could be slain through a childish identification with the main character. Punch the bad guy, buy new clothes, get the girl.
Sadly though, I’ve come to see that imagination isn’t a strength of mine, and attempts to create the next Jack Reacher have fallen flat. But it could be a matter of more practice and a little patience.
Until then, you’ll need to tolerate musings on daily life and snippets from the modern workplace. I’m relying on the everyday mundane for inspiration. Which should be rich enough with endless entertainment.
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