The Same Old Story You Have Never Heard Before

Maya Angelou said that there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you. I used to believe that with every piece of my soul, then I didn’t.

I have been a storyteller all my life. Some of my earliest memories are writing stories of Dragons, hidden dangers, and I actually got into horror writing VERY young. Like way younger than any sane person would consider healthy. I can remember losing myself in story and forgetting about real life at times. Fighting to remember what parts I had made up and what parts I had really seen. As soon as the pen hit the paper, I was lost for a lifetime.

I used to buy these really extravagant pens, the Bic Grip Roller with the micro-tip was always my favorite. Capped of course, what the hell kind of self-respecting writer would use a retractable pen??? You should be ashamed of yourself. Anyway, it was like ten bucks for a single pen. Might not sound like much but, to a grade-schooler, it’s like sipping cognac on the beaches of Bora Bora.

I agree with Maya in many cases. To have an idea for a story and not get it down on paper, or not feel you are good enough to do it justice, or just be completely burnt out to the point that you can’t imagine doing anything, it’s all bad. You begin to question yourself at every moment. I would feel myself getting into a dark place at times. I would write about ghosts, or demons, or the classic Stephen King rip off - having inanimate objects come to life and raise hell. The (insert heavy appliance or Kmart Blue Light Special item here) gets possessed by the angry spirit of your dead schoolteacher and now it’s time to see what’s what. I never said they were good, I just said I was writing. When I started to get too dark, I would switch to Medieval pieces, or fantasy sagas, screenwriting, I even got some poetry published. There was no type or style of writing that I wouldn’t explore.

But where does it end? What is going to be the one to push me up to the next level and get me ALL the money? I thought I had it once. It was the most personal piece of fiction I had ever written. It was a movie script based around me and my group of friends. Each with his own skill set all coming together to bring down some rich prick that had it out for one of us. After I wrote it, I knew that was it. With the last line and “FADE OUT” I knew I was going to be writing for the rest of my life. I was a year out of college, where I would major in Creative Writing. Maybe a minor in Screenwriting. I would start working at a film studio to pay the bills and then branch out writing features. Eventually my name would in the opening credits of every big summer blockbuster.

The road was paved in gold and I had just taken my first step. Then I went back and reread it. It was crap. It felt like such a long and soul-crushing decision but looking back it seems like it all happened in a blur.

I decided to major in Criminal Justice and become a cop. There were two constants in my life. One, I always had a pen on me. Two, I was as big as a house. So, if I couldn’t use one, I might as well use the other. I didn’t write a single thing in college. I stopped buying pens and Bic took a huge profit loss. I’m sure their stock has recovered by now, but it must have been a huge blow to them.

I had a few good ideas over the years, but I let them drift from my mind as quickly as they came. It became “someone should write a book about…”, “someone should make a movie about…”. It wasn’t “I should” anymore, it was just “someone should”. College is supposed to be the best time of your life and it took me years to figure out why it was my worst. I wasn’t creating anything, and it made my mind go stagnant. When your mind starts to idle, it doesn’t take long for your heart and soul to follow suit. So many missed opportunities.

So, my career went a different path. I busted my shoulder, so I wasn’t going to be a cop. The only other option is rent-a-cop, right? I idled for fifteen years or so. Working security was fun at times, don’t get me wrong. I met a ton a great people, some of them became some of my closest friends. I was pretty good at it too. I was able to innovate new programs and that put me on a new level. Are you bored yet? I’ve only been writing about it for a couple of sentences and I already feel like I gave you the fifteen years word for word. Holy hell.

Sometimes, getting laid off is the best thing that could ever happen to you. By the time I got laid off I was already drawing, designing, and getting back into the creative mind. But I still hadn’t picked up a pen. It’s like I had forgotten how. I never considered myself an artist. I only got into design because Cus the Artist and I had started DownLowPins at that point and we needed to keep up on design demands. I started designing like my life depended on it…because it did. The state told me my profession was “in decline” and I better start looking at other avenues of work. So, art, here I come! I was doing commission work, I went back to school to learn digital design, I began 3D design, the works. If it needed a pretty picture, I was ready to go.

But the bills still need to be paid. My son still needs to eat. He’s still in diapers. What the hell am I going to do? A novice artist working on commission isn’t going to make it happen. So, here it goes. I picked up the pen and it felt funny for a minute. I didn’t spend the money on the Bic. The whole idea was to make money, not spend it, right? It was just a crutch anyway. Something I could look to when I questioned myself. Surely a TRUE writer would not be using anything less than the best.

Now I’ll use anything to write. I learned it wasn’t about the instrument, it was about the story. Tell them something about yourself and you have told them something they haven’t heard before, even if they’ve heard it a million times. Because it didn’t come from you.

Don’t forget to tell your story. And, if you can, make a few dollars while you’re at it.