I’ve been sitting here tonight enjoying a very peaceful, quiet night. Well aside from the television playing Final Fantasy: Advent Children in the background. It’s one of my favorite movies. The video game on which this movie is based on is definitely my most favorite game to play.

I’m sure you’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with whatever I’ll be blogging about tonight. In all honesty, it has nothing to do with what I’ve been mulling over while doing a bit of writing tonight.

Ironically, I’ve only gotten in 632 words of my manuscript. To most writers, that may not seem much. But to me it’s quite a lot, considering that I haven’t really haven’t had that much of a chance to really do some writing these last few days. Every time that I tried to sit down and put my pen to paper something always came up.

I’m not complaining, mind you. Far from it, really. This is more of a reflection of the things that can interrupt a writer whenever we sit down to pour our hearts and souls into the literature that we hope someone else will read some day and like what they’ve read.

For those of us on this path as an author, we go through the up’s and down’s of rejection day after day; always trying to give forth something that in the end while be worthwhile. We sit through day jobs that don’t really interest us but which we do because we need to have a means in which to survive. We suffer through the criticisms of some friends and family who don’t really understand why it is that we do what we do. There’s also the fact that we juggle the needs of those we love, as well as our own, while hoping to sit down and let loose the thoughts that have been cultivating within our very minds day in and day out.

A lot of people don’t seem to understand the things that drive a writer. They fail to see that while most of what we do is written, this is also our life. Hell, it’s our very job. At least, for me it is. I may hold a day job but writing is my passion. It has been since I was six years old. I remember hiding beneath my sheets with a flashlight, a notebook, and a small stub of a pencil jotting down the thoughts that would come to me out of nowhere. I’d create worlds full of characters within those notebooks, hiding them from my parents because I knew they wouldn’t understand. Mom would always seem to know where I’d stash my notebooks and papers full of writing were and always chucked them out. She didn’t quite understand what all that drivel on those pieces of papers meant. Not that I blame her.

As I’ve been sitting here tonight writing, something I read earlier keeps coming to mind. Bubblecow posted a link to a blog someone wrote about the fact that writer’s should forget to about being published and worry instead about being read/heard. I realized that that article had very good point. What’s the use of being published, if no one really reads what you’ve been writing? While we may think that we’re good writers, how do we really know if we are if no one’s talking about or really reviewing what you’ve written?

I’ve had my writing up online for years. Aside from close friends and family, no one has really known this fact. I’d mostly just share my work with those that I felt really appreciated what I’d created. Why? Because I was always a tad scared to share most of my work with others. I have my reasons for doing that, reasons of which I can’t really go into because some of it is personal. This was, of course, up until I made the decision to self-publish my work. Up until now, I wasn’t having that much luck with traditional publishing, so sharing my work with close friends and family worked for me then.

Ironically, the path that I’d previously walked with my writing won’t work for me now. I came to the realization that I want to be heard. I want to be read. And yes, I very much want to be a published author – be it traditionally or via the self-published route that I have undertaken. I want people to look at my work and like what they see. I want to immerse them within the worlds that I’ve created and have them feel what I felt when I was putting it all together. I want to captivate my readers with these stories that keep flowing from my fingertips onto the papers that scatter the top of my desk day in and day out.

But most of all, I just really want to know that people are really reading what I’m writing. That perhaps in some little way, I’m reaching out to them with my stories somehow. That maybe some day, people will look back and say that they like and have read what I’ve penned down. And perhaps they’ll share those stories with others in hopes of making my dream of writing a true reality and not just a dream.