Limited Time Offer

My last post generated a bit of controversy amongst readers and friends. Some insisted that I thoroughly could write fiction if I chose to dedicate the time and effort to improving my craft. I was perhaps a bit too surreptitious in the first paragraph–I wanted to allude to the fact that, indeed, there is some choice involved.

However, I still maintain that I can’t write fiction, and here is why:

At present, there are forms of writing that in which I am far better. I write memoir and poetry well. I’m further ahead the learning curve with both of those art forms. And I have a pressing deadline: I must have writing samples prepared for graduate school by the end of the calendar year. This must be the best work I’ve ever written. And it needs to be in the genre I choose to write for graduate school. The schools want me, amongst other things, to write in the forms in which my writing is most mature. My fiction writing is not possibly going to get there by the end of the year.

There is another, deeper concern involved as well, also related to writing. I don’t have much time to write. I don’t mean in my day–I mean in my lifetime. All I have to do in life is a limited-time offer.

Act now and we’ll throw in this free waffle iron! Photo by Cloganese. Via Flickr.com

I’m not wanting to sound alarmist and melodramatic, prognosticating my death. But I have to be honest. I wasted an entire decade of my life in ex-gay therapy–time I couldn’t commit to personal or professional development because it all had to take a back seat to the impossible attempt to turn into a heterosexual (or a giraffe, which was just as likely and just as necessary).

And I can’t necessarily predict a long life, either. Though my mother’s family tree is filled with centenarians, it’s hardly the case for my father’s side. Indeed, I buried my father when he was only 59. I am also (as I have discussed previously) diagnosed with psychiatric illness. Those who suffer mental disorders can expect a lifespan 25 years shorter than those undiagnosed. And it’s not because of suicide, like you might think, but rather from physical ailments that go untreated because doctors ignore symptoms, believing they’re just in the patient’s mind.

Believe me, I hope to beat every one of these statistics and become yet another centenarian to grace my family tree. But, with all of these factors taken into account, I perhaps am more deeply aware of my mortality than some. Seeing a parent die when you’re only 23 can do that.

So I run on the assumption that I’m not going to be around as long as the next guy. And I have a lot that needs to be said. I often say that mine is a case of the message being more important than the messenger. And I write so that something of me will live on after I die.

So it’s not for lack of desire that I don’t write fiction. I simply must focus my energies on my strengths, so that something worthwhile comes of the time I have left on this planet. This to me is far more important than my random desires.

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About Whittier Strong

Whittier Strong is an MFA student in creative writing at the University of Alaska-Fairbanks, with a focus in nonfiction. He graduated from Metropolitan State University with a BA in creative writing. He has special interests in sociology and philosophy.

Posted on 26 August, 2013, in Commentary, MFA, Personal life and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. You make an excellent point. While I would love to be an Einstein, I’m just not. Instead of focusing on things we could be mediocre at (or in my case with mathematics and physics, awful at) time would be better spent focusing on what we can be great at.

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