IF IT FEELS SO WRITE, IT CAN’T BE WRONG!

As strange as it seems, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t write.  Don’t get me wrong, I know that time existed, a time when I didn’t even know what a pencil was, let alone know how to use it to form a letter, a word, or even a complete sentence, but that time is so far away that I can’t remember it at all.

From the moment that I learned the art of composition in grade school, I fell in love with writing, and pencil and paper became my best friends.  I would sit alone for hours on end in my bedroom scribbling away on anything and everything that an eight-year-old boy could possibly be interested in scribbling about, and to be honest, most of what I wrote back then was gibberish, certainly nothing that would be worthy of praise, let alone publication in a second-grade newsletter had such a monster existed back then, but I kept writing, and I got better at it.

Pen and paper are still my favorite medium for writing, even though I have a top of the line laptop and an assortment of writing software on it, something about pen and paper brings out my creativity.  My home is cluttered with notebooks, binders filled with loose leaf paper and journal books, some of them full, some half-filled, and others barely written in but I would never dream of disposing of any of them even though some of them go way back to my twenties.

Writing is my passion, there’s no doubt about that, and though the time I have available to write is limited by the time spent at my full-time job in the Addictions Field, and other life commitments, I value each minute that I get to spend writing.  I have somehow found the time to self-publish two books, a collection of flash-fiction, and a collection of short-stories, neither of which was an overwhelming success because I’ll willingly admit that I suck at self-marketing, but I sold enough copies of each to break even, and that’s all that ever really mattered to me.

Now, I know that I’m not an excellent, star quality writer, even though a few of my readers have politely stroked my ego a little bit by implying that I might be close to it, I love them to death for that, but I do know that I am a good writer.  If I didn’t know and believe that, I wouldn’t be writing because the point of writing is to keep bettering yourself, and I know I have done that, besides, I’ve gotten good reviews from the hundred or so readers who have read my books, some from as far away as the United Kingdom, yay!

Even though I’m not a best-selling author, yet (knock on wood), I trudge away at my craft as if I were, and that is the only path I know to success.  I think it’s important for people to follow their dreams, and the best way to do that is to get out there and do it.  It doesn’t matter if your dream is to be an artist, a writer, a ballerina, an actor or an athlete, you’ve got to get out there and do it, even if you suck at it, until you reach a point where you don’t suck at it anymore, and it doesn’t even seem like work anymore, and you’re a star even if others don’t readily see it.  That’s how I approach my writing, and I can honestly say that it really isn’t work anymore, it may be hard as hell, but it’s hard fun.

Get out there and DO IT, no matter what IT is!

Love always,

Luc Rivet

Imagination Isn't Just Child's Play

I’m a dreamer, always have been and ever will be, and as such, I have a very active imagination.  This can sometimes be a curse, especially when you are imagining the worst possible thing that could happen, but it can also be a blessing, and as a writer, I find it is more often a blessing than a curse. 

In my younger years, when I was shy and withdrawn, I would spend hours on end in the privacy of my room, pretending to be anyone or anything else.  Not that there was too much wrong with who I was and with my life in general, but somehow I wanted more and my imagination brought it to me.  I felt more comfortable living in my imagination than living in my humdrum life and got more pleasure from imaginary friends than from the real ones I had.

Things have changed since then, I grew up and my imagination got silenced for a short period of time as I went about living in the serious world of a grown-up man, but I never totally shelved my imagination, I kept parts of it handy, almost as a security blanket.  I’m glad I did because as a writer, it has become my greatest asset.

There is something amazing about being able to immerse me, at will, into the lives of a newly developed character, to think as he/she thinks, and to vicariously live the story through them.  Most of my short stories were play-acted by me before they were written, and good, bad, or indifferent, I am invested in each of those stories like a father is invested in the lives of his children.

Now, it’s not only in writing that my imagination serves me well, it is also an asset when reading.  I find that I can easily immerse myself into any story I read, with exceptions when it comes to bad stories, and it is like I’m a participant in the story, and the world the other has created.  I am not unique in this way, many of the readers I speak to can do the same, and are grateful for the imagination to do so.

Imagination isn’t just child’s play, and it isn’t to be feared, it serves a fantastic purpose in each of our lives.  It has applications outside of reading and writing as well, it allows us to assess and re-evaluate any situation we find ourselves in, and to dream up a constructive solution; it helps us to survive dull, boring moments; and it fills us with hope.  Of all the blessings I have been given, I am most thankful for my imagination.  Long live my imagination.