by Jon Biddle
I work a full-time job as a writer, and some folks rock their hips and place a hand on their chest, open mouthed, demonstrating a level of confusion, ‘don’t you work as a medical professional?’
I guess while stood there in green scrubs, wearing a hat and an ID badge which contradicts my employment status as a writer.
You see, I work as a medical professional like someone working a bar shift or waiting tables while pursuing their dreams as a singer, actor or artist. This might be a flippant comment and I do take patient care very seriously, but it’s not my future.
Working in a surgical team is my bar job. Outside of this, I get up a 5am, with caffeine already coursing through my veins, I start to tickle my keys and write. The alarm jolts me back to reality, dragging me kicking and screaming from my made-up world which have become the fabric of my books.
When I’ve done that shift at the hospital, I race home. Spend some time with my wife, have some supper and I get right back to that made up world. This is world I love creating and can’t wait for people to read it.
The question here, what’s more important?
For me, writing is my passion, my love and only passion outside of my family. The energy writing gives me is immeasurable.
Everything else is a poor second. Spending time with the characters in my books, for me is more important than spending time with real humans. I’m kinda done with us humans. When I pass through the pearly gates, I want to come back as a dog. I don’t want to have a prefrontal cortex anymore, look it up.
Writing means more to me than just some words on a page. These words are my therapy. They quiet the mind, close the door on the darkness which perpetually pervades my consciousness.
Before, it was booze, food, and sex, like with everything in life, you can have too much of a good thing. I was becoming alcohol dependant, my eating was out of control – Scratch that, it still is and the sex, well, you ‘can’ have too much of a good thing, trust me.
Controlling these adjuncts, I now must channel my resolve through writing. Which has grown into a passion he says looking at the floor, maybe this is now my addiction?
It’s what makes me smile to myself while out and about, the thoughts of my story line constantly evolving in my head. Picking bits of everyday life unfolding in front of me. Life has an abundance of material to write about, I don’t even know why writers get writers block, and that’s me also holding my hand up in the air, lord knows I have had my fair share of it. But my world can be levelled and become a little more manageable if I just calm the mind and start running my fingers over the keyboard.
What is your passion?
What gets you out of bed before the birds?