O.C. Cavanaugh Jr.'s Blog

Why I Do What I Do

I began to write at the tender age of four.
Hour upon hour, I'd sit and write short stories and poetry. Hundreds of stories would manifest themselves without trying. And, they were good, too. So much so, that I knew exactly what I wanted to be when adulthood arrived--a professional writer.
That's a great story, right? I dare say romantic, if only it was true. IT ISN'T.
Truth be known, I wanted to be a movie director. (Thank you, George Lucas.) That's right. I had the urge to interpret stories and direct people to act as characters.
Needless to say, I never pursued the magical medium of filmmaking...didn't have the drive or calling, I reckon. Yet, one thing remained with me throughout my life: I've always seen stories visually, and they've always continued to flood my consciousness, daily. Dozens of them volley back and forth of both my left and right brain as if they were vying for the championship spot of a Wimbledon match until I relent and write them down.
As a result, I wrote my debut novel, Olivia's Dream. A sentimental piece written to cope with the death of my maternal grandmother. I published that thing having only two drafts, no editor, and no beta readers, (something I now look back on sorrowfully and in disbelief.) Olivia's Dream didn't sell a single copy, and just when I was about to chalk-up my writing career as a "no-hit wonder," a funny thing happened. A friend read a few passages and liked what they read. I WAS ELATED. For the first time since picking up a pen, I had connected with another person by the simple use of words. Which brings me back to the title of this post: why I do what I do. The good answer would be that writing brings me fulfillment. That I would write even when no one reads it, but the truth is far more substantial. I write in hopes of not only entertaining, but also to connect with YOU, the reader. And maybe, just maybe, we'll come to understand each other.

THE MOMENT YOU REALIZE: I'M A WRITER

I was never one of those souls that entered earth knowing without a doubt, I want to be a writer. I'd written poetry and prose, even counted the many stories that floated in my mind like cumulus clouds in the sky. Yet, like many budding wordsmiths, I suppressed the urge to call myself, writer.
That changed when I found myself in the midst of a divorce. At the time, I was toying with the first draft of a novel I was penning to deal with the death of my grandmother. Grieving and reconciling with the lost of my life partner, I wrote incessantly until I had a concrete, written draft in my hands.
For me, the thought of leaving this world having no legacy to proclaim my existence, ( mind you, I don't have any children.) was a constant fear that I hated to admit. I vowed that at the very least, I'd one day have a paperback of my first novel.
Flash forward two-years later, a lot of dedication and a little bit of money, and I now have a paperback. A solid reminder that I WAS HERE.
When the books arrived at my doorstep, I didn't know how to react. I broke the box open to find books with my name, my vision and my words for all to see. Elation serves no justice for what I was feeling. I had not only become a writer but a novelist.
Now, my advice to the neophyte writer. The one who's marked by dreams of sharing not only a voice but stories that entertain and touch on a deeper level. Keep at it, dear writer. The world needs you. Only you have the ability to change the past, present and future with your words, your legacy. Don't stop no matter how long it takes. WRITE ON. WRITE ON. WRITE ON.
What say you?

THE NEOPHYTE WRITER

It is normal as a beginner writer to immerse themselves under the umbrella of their favorite writers. The ones who’ve made it. The ones who’ve set the bar so high that if we could receive a taste from their trickle-down, success is guaranteed. I was no different. (For a time, I tried to emulate J.D. Salinger and Stephen King.)
As a neophyte, we follow wide-eyed, going to the point of idolization. To that, I say STOP IT. It’s easy to believe that the (made its) have some magical ability that will (if we hold steadfast) somehow initiate us with the perfect story—greatness. Again, I say STOP IT.
There is no greater magic than YOU writing from the heart. YOU, learning what it is to be a writer. The biggies started the same way, trust me. They’ve encountered the same emotions that have plagued humankind since the beginning: am I good enough? When will I be accepted as a writer? Will, anyone, read this shit? Am I making a mistake?
I challenge you to inspire yourself. Work out those kinks in your writing muscles alone. At least at the beginning of your career. Concentrate on that first story and what you want to say with it. By all means, read the masters. Learn how they tackled the problems. Read. Read. Read. Then, write your ass off as only you can.
There is beauty in you, the writer. A beauty that no other writer can match. IT IS your voice.