Why I will never be a writor

Right, let’s get history and explanation.  I am using the word “writor” for a reason, despite the fact that it isn’t a word.  Because it isn't a word.

Back in the 80s there was a TV series in the UK called Spitting Image.  For those who weren’t here, either geographically or temporally challenged as you may have been, it used rubbery puppets to represent politicians and celebrities in a satirical comedy show.  Some celebrities considered having a puppet as a sign of having made it.  Some hated it.  It was a product of right-wing times.  It is needed now.  This is a digression.

They often had Leonard Nimoy as Spock (a beautiful contradiction of a man, given that his two autobiographies were “I am not Spock” and later “I am Spock” suggesting he is actually Schrodinger’s Spock, and only becomes Spock or notSpock only after you observe him).  Lee-oh-nard niMOY (for so it was pronounced on the show) would come on and say “I am an acTOR.  I shall do Shakespeare.  To be or not to be, that is illogical captain”.  Anyway.  That is where “acTOR” comes from, and hence “wriTOR”.

I am never going to be one.

There, I said it.  I feel better.

What I am going to do is write.  But how, I hear you cry, does that change anything?  If you write, you’re a writer, right?  (Well, only if you partake of the rites of right writing… no, that’s not going anywhere)

Well, kind of.  I had a discussion with someone who’s sending out inspirational stuff about writing, and knowing your audience, and targeting, and marketing yourself, and all that.  And listening to her I realised she was right.  If you want to make it, that’s how you do it.  You concentrate on one thing and people will know you for that, and come back, and remember.  And all that jazz.  And don’t get me wrong – to misquote Jack Nicholson from “As Good as it Gets”, if that does it for you, you’re the luckiest people in the world.

But it doesn’t do it for me.

I really really would like something published.  But more than that, I write.  I put bollocks down on paper (well, virtual paper) and I post it, and I put it on blogs, and I send it to competitions, and I burble along writing in different genres (none highbrow – just stuff which tells stories which want to be told).

So, wish me luck, but I’m not going to focus, and I’m probably not going to get much further than I’ve got now.  A few dozen people reading (and hopefully enjoying) some blog posts which overplay how annoyed I get at things in the world (I’m actually quite calm), some short stories which sometimes hint at the swirling torrents of emotion I keep hidden (because I’m, y’know, British’n’all), and occasional long pieces which a few people have enjoyed.

I can’t focus on one of those, because that would be to lose a huge amount of the reason I write.

So.  I will write.  I will be a writer.  But never a writor.  Which may be a shame, or not.