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Eric Pelka (Eazy_E)

Joined 7 years ago from State College, Pennsylvania




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As I sit on my porch, overlooking the dark streetlight bathed parking lot, that distinct fresh smell of a 2:00 AM rain peering through the clouds of billowing smoke that I puffed out of my mouth, my fingers frantically dancing across my keyboard, I find myself stuck. How am I supposed to tell the world who I am, when I’m not even sure what I am doing with my life? What about ‘me’ is any different than any other schmuck coming out of college; stars in their eyes, dreams of fame following them. I push the thought away and continue. I write ten or so lines, stop, read them, and immediately cuss into the still night. Where was that bull shit detector Hemmingway told me I would need? Control A, delete, and start again. First try, too cliché; second, too corny; third, too systematic. My voice becomes lost in the erratic jumble of words splayed across the Word document on my smudge covered Asus notebook. Sure, my desire is true. Yes, I want nothing more than to be a writer and find myself in the hustle and bustle of the age old industry; yes, writing is more than a hobby to me. But is this really me? Do I want to stroke the ego of every literary fanatic that has ever lived; make it sound like I am some unique artist; a Bob Dylan, a Wordsworth, or a Twain; someone who can’t live without writing? No, I can’t lie, that’s just not me. I’m a country boy from a small town. I will make it by without a career in writing. We always have. I’m not too good for labor.

And so, it finally hits me, after reading through a series of bio’s; finishing, four or five cigarettes over double the failed attempts at starting a draft – I realize I just need to tell everyone how it is, honestly. It’s simple, I love writing. When I enrolled into college I put all my chips in against a mountain of student loan debt. I didn’t double major in education or provide a backup plan in editing. No, I lifted my chin high and stuck my middle finger in the air to all those who said there was nothing for me in an English degree. I never wanted to be a high school teacher, or rifle through thousands of other writers’ manuscripts. Writing has always been personal, and I would never want to resign myself to such cell-like occupations. Now, I am approaching the end of my gamble, and I’m taking off my gold watch, my wallet, and all the credit cards in it; I am taking everything of worth that I have left and adding them to the pot, because I know that this is my last opportunity to succeed in the career I long to have.

Writing isn’t just some farfetched dream, or unrealistic appetite I need to satiate; No, it is my livelihood. It is how I always planned to bring home the money and provide for myself and eventually a family. I have always loved to write. Everyone told me when I was young to pursue a career in something that I love to do; they said I wouldn’t “work a day in” my “life.” Now I’m not delusional, I will work, and I will work hard. Nothing in life comes easy. But writing is my greatest skill. As far as I know, I am pretty damn good at it. Not to sound obnoxious or arrogant. While others were taking notes in chemistry, or learning computer programming languages, I was jotting down poems and stories in my notebooks. I’ve been training myself since day one of my education to be a writer. Now it is time for me to enter adulthood, look away from school, and find my place amongst the working world. Find a home for my writing talent, my grammar and editing expertise, my creative mind, and my diligent desire to learn and to never fail.

But in all reality, if there are no offers; if my gamble is to result in a crippling loss, if no business would have me amongst their staff, I wouldn’t simply fade out like a burned out star, or a child actor who grew too old. No, I would go back home – back to my little town of Winburne – I would find a decent paying job in labor, buy a small house, and live out my life, proud that I never surrendered to what the status quo told me I should do. I would eventually find myself a wife, have some kids, and be the man I always wanted to be. It would be a hard life. But at least I would still be allowed to do what I love most – write. Because all I have ever wanted to do is write. And I will share that love with my kids, and tell them that they should pursue exactly what they want in life, regardless of how stupid or foolish it may sound to others. This is who I am, and this is how I will always live my life.

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