A part of me always wonders what kind of writer I’ll be.
Will I be the one only some people remember? I can have my books taught in classrooms. Or be the one everyone gets obsessed with for a bit. Some can despise my work because of its popularity. My stories can change people and let them think a different way.
Or I can have my books gather dust. Will anyone notice my stories at all besides friends and family? I can be a writer – like many other writers – that becomes forgotten over the years. Perhaps someone will pick up my book and notice how interesting my stories can be after I’m gone.
A part of me wants to say we have no choice. We’re given strict materials that can limit our lives.
Another part of me denies that chains can weigh me down. That part of me says I can choose which writer I want to be. I can choose to gather dust like a friend or change the world for something more.
If I have to chose, everyone would see my footprints.