Sometimes I think we get too caught up in the whole greatness game. Sure, sure, we all wanna be good, great, or just pretty darn decent, and forget why it is we do what we do.
With writing, I have always had the sense to just do it, and not worry about where I will end up in the end. Hell, I want to be remembered for my writing, I want it to live long after I am gone but, hell, I dunno what that means. Who really knows what that means. You can say you wanna be the next, WHOEVER, but even those people will fade eventually. All you can hope for, all you can ask for, is to touch people with what you do.
I hope that my stories speak to the people that read them, for good or ill. I hope it incites passion. But beyond trying to tell stories that mean something to me, and beyond trying to write them as well as I can, I don’t have a voice in what happens next.
It’s a mistake to think you can plan greatness. That you can plot your future that way. Passion, if followed, can lead to truth, and that is where greatness lies.
Even if that truth is a lie.