Do I Really Want to Write?

In 9th grade I wrote a descriptive paper of the first time I met Joe. I was at the mall and this tall, gangly kid with white blonde hair stopped me just to introduce himself. He was wearing black skinny jeans and a faded ACDC t-shirt. As I looked up at the 5’10 boy, his smile had me mesmerized. He had the cutest dimples and bright blue eyes. We dated for a week.

Now, I’m sure that’s not exactly what the paper said, but my teacher held it up to the class and read my description of Joe out loud. Mr. Wilson looked at me and said, “Sara, you should become a writer.” From that day on I knew what I wanted to do. I joined journalism and became an editor for the school paper.

Now that I’m out in Los Angeles I don’t think I want journalism anymore. It’s easy for me to write articles. My friends read them and tell me that they loved it, but I never actually get a true response and critique of my work. I want to write a book or a screenplay, but I’m scared that everyone will hate what I have to say. Not to mention, I’m good at writing things from my perspective, but when it comes to writing multiple characters, I don’t know how to distinguish between voices and create a new life.

So what exactly do I want to write? I was thinking a half hour comedy about life as a 20-something in Los Angeles. What it’s really like. An assistant at an agency gets paid virtually nothing, actors work at waiters in restaurants well into their 30s and everyone in production has an unstable lifestyle of bouncing from project to project. It would be a less hipster version of girls and the characters would be less obnoxious because Hannah Horvath is actually the most annoying character on TV at the moment.

The problem is that no one cares about what life is like here unless you live here. I have all these thoughts and ideas, but I never seem to carry them out in full and I don’t know how to force myself to do it. Anyway, that’s my random rambling of the day. Feel free to give me some advice.

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