Not that I would ever have flights of fancy, or dream of being the creme of the crop as a writer. I’m but one in a sea of thousands of would-be writers. Still the imagination is full of surprises, and turns.
Could I see myself, with a colleague, sipping on a drinks, and eating a lovely porterhouse steak (with all the fixings). I’d discuss the finer points of the unreliable narrator, or trading tips and opinions on the different styles of writing. Who’s being discussed in academic circles this year? Dare I go off on/about other writers, and their successes (or alternately celebrating). And of course, our woes of writing, and ironing the kinks out. We live for those moments.
I don’t want to even think of how commercial writers outsell us–constantly. We are artists, and our work is magic on pages. If only our hard work could win more readers over. If only they could see there are other ways to write a story, and the method just as viable and (I wish), more profitable.
I jest, but what wouldn’t be more fun to imagine oneself as aspiring to be so capricious, when there’s work to be done?
In reality, I’d love to get my work published in literary magazines, and then turn around and write a few novels along with more short stories. On top of that, I’d love to work on more screenplays and scripts for film, television, comics, and even video games. In reality those wine and steak dinners would be infrequent. The toiling away would be very real. Perhaps the sharing of information and techniques would be the finest point (learn from each other). I can hear a lot of us bitching and moaning about books we hate going to the bestseller’s lists, while we try to break even.
Who knows, perhaps one of us will break through and be published, and make a little fame and fortune. I do dream of having a little of both. So I’m your literary darling. You just don’t know it yet. 🙂