Fill the time between baby and adult diapers with passion

It’s good to have passion. I’d say it’s almost necessary to have something you’re crazy… It’s good to have passion. I’d say it’s almost necessary to have something you’re crazy about. Otherwise, you’re not really doing something with the complex system of neurons you’ve been fortunate enough to evolve. The human life span just isn’t long enough for you to exist and not make anything happen in the time between baby diapers and adult diapers.

I couldn’t live without writing.

Seeing that sentence scares me but it’s the truth. At first I thought my dream of being a fiction writer was just the whim of the moment or even something I was clinging to out of desperation.In my senior year of high school I had an English teacher that finally broke through my teenage indifference and made me care about something outside myself. She read the papers I had to write for her and thought that I had talent and promise.

Unlike many high school teachers, she acted upon her intuition and encouraged me to take an interest in writing. At the time, I liked the praise but I thought maybe she was a little crazy from having such an unrewarding job. Trying to educate the unwilling can take its toll on a person.

Once in college, I thought I’d probably be a history major, the most rocking-est major ever. I pictured myself as appearing in specials on The History Channel or PBS, stroking my goatee and commenting on the ramifications of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71. France got its ass kicked and thus furthered the growing imperialist/nationalist tensions between the industrial nations of western and central Europe, if anyone’s interested.

Then I took Introduction to Fiction my second semester freshman year and I realized two things. First, fantasizing about having cameos in a History Channel Presents: The Dark Days Before the Great War was not as cool as fantasizing about say, having sex with all the ladies of Destiny’s Child at once. Second, for me, writing fiction was more fun and important than anything else.

What a beautiful and painful revelation it was for me to realize the immensity and beauty that is making up stories. From that time forward there has always been this driving force in the back of my skull. Sometimes it feels like the barrel of an assault rifle and sometimes like the tender messaging hands of a beautiful woman. Oh yes, those tender messaging hands.

I’m no fool. I know there are other things that are important in life – the love of someone nice, family, and helping out who you can. But if all those things left me and I didn’t commit suicide, I’d still have writing, and I think I could manage with that.

There are roadblocks all along my path. Most significant right now is that I’m not a good writer. This is not self-pity; I’ll get better. You’d think that, being so desperately in love with writing, I’d be good in classes dedicated to it. But I’ve never gotten an A in any of my writing classes so far. Does this discourage me? Yes, but does it stop me? Hell, naw.

So what does this mean to you, who has spent at least three minutes of your time reading this column? Obviously, you weren’t frightened by the picture of me above, or too turned on to do anything but go home and masturbate to it. You read my work. So, I hope you’ll see that there are other people with powerful ambitions like you, possibly chasing empty dreams but doing it anyways because Wal Mart will always be hiring.Maybe you’re a music major or a philosophy major and you don’t want to starve after college. Or perhaps you’re an engineer with a secret passion for pottery. Go for it. Something will always work out. Crappy advice, I know, but that’s how it is. Things probably won’t turn out exactly as you hoped they would, but, then again, rarely does anything – so who cares? If you take my advice and your life is ruined, come find me.

We can always start a new age cult together.

Seth Steinbacher loves self-discovery, especially in dimly lit rooms with an empty paper towel tube and a gerbil. Email him at ssteinbacher@pittnews.com