I am reading The World According to Garp by John Irving.
I write. I sometimes call myself a writer, you know when I put these words together and they make people feel different things at the same time.
Sometimes, I call myself an “aspiring writer,” because I haven’t written a classic like Things Fall Apart, Arrow of God, No longer at ease, and let’s just say that this list would not end.
Sometimes, like right now… I am in between a Writer and an Aspiring Writer.
I was prompted to read this book because of what was written on the back cover,
This is the life and times of T. S. Garp, the bastard son of Jenny Fields- a feminist ahead of her time.
I could not help but want to read about Jenny and how she managed to raise her son- and just how much influence she would have on Garp, but somewhere along the way, Garp says that he did not know it then but at eleven was when he was set out to be a Writer.
I asked myself,
When did you know that you wanted to be a Writer?
The answer I got was, “I don’t know, I find such peace writing, and it’s all I think about when I wake up, but am also working as a Research Assistant. I have bills to pay, and books to share.”
So,I put the book down, angered by Garp’s conviction and my lack of it.
I picked it up today when I was waiting to be served at a Government office and the secretary was keen on reading her newspaper instead of looking up at me.
Helen, Garp’s wife, tells him at some point that a boy, Randy, wanted to be a writer, and Garp (because his jaw is wired shut, writes down on a piece of paper)
Everyone wants to be a writer!
Really, Garp? Right now, when I am in between states is when you spring this up?
I shut the book, put it back inside my bag and for the millionth time told myself,
“You are a Writer, there’s no in between or what if’s just sit down and finish writing that book!”