If I Wasn’t A Writer

P.G. Barnett
Apr 9, 2020 · 4 min read

A Sherry McGuinn Challenge For Writers On Illumination

Usually, I’m slow to respond to a writing challenge or even a thought challenge. Being one who is typically late to the party, ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, or the brightest Crayola in the box, most of my fellow writers know I have to let things “germinate” for a bit before I weigh in.

Sometimes a few days. Sometimes weeks or months. Sometimes never.

So imagine my surprise when thoughts of how I planned to respond to Sherry McGuinn’s challenge spun up in my little pea brain this morning. I wasn’t expecting it, but then most times I never expect to know what I’m going to write about until it slams into me with one of those “ah-ha” moments.

What would I be if I wasn’t a writer? Sherry? Dr. Yildiz and the rest of my writing compadres here on Illumination?

Hold on to your butts. Here we go.

If I wasn’t a writer.

I’d be a twin who is desperate to strike out on my own without help from my family. A family who has a unique talent I never even knew about.

A family whose ancestors recognized the many hidden faces of evil that walked among the Human race, bending the wills of those they came in contact with.

I’d be the twin to take a job, never realizing this evil was there waiting for me. Waiting because darkness knew I possessed the talent to spot it and destroy it, and it realized it needed to strike first. I’d be the twin who was involved in a vicious attack by this evil, a barbarian invasion of my mind that shreds all memories of my former life and renders me comatose.

I would be the twin whose family banded together, at risk of losing their own lives by trying to save me, and ultimately my family and I manage to fight back, using arcane rituals that finally defeat this evil. But at the cost of the lives of three of my dearest family members.

If I wasn’t a writer.

I’d be the other twin who now realizes they must go back home. The twin realizes the only way to put things right again is to leave their five-year-old child with their twin sibling and try to find a way back to deal with the loss of a loved one.

But the world has changed, and only stepping off a plane does this twin realize they won’t be able to return home. The world has been turned upside down, and no one can travel without a pass, which could take months or years to acquire.

This twin would then be forced to make a choice that would set off a chain of terrible events and results in the deaths of innocent people.

And the loss of a five-year-old daughter.

If I wasn’t a writer.

I’d be the son of one of the twins who born blind, has an exceptional talent of being able to connect to other humans and use their eyes to see the world. I would be the son, born to one of the twins only minutes before my sister was born and yet discover I was a half brother instead of a twin.

I would be the son who discovers his real father was one who walked in evil, and I would find a means of traveling through portals to other universal places that existed within the striations of time.

I would be the son who was chosen to destroy these portals and then learned to be a hunter, along with my sisters, vowing to use an ancient technology created by evil against evil itself.

If I wasn’t a writer.

As the only son, I experience betrayal by the governing bodies of the world who sought to capture my family and I. Military pundits who believed my family and I were the enemy and needed to be caged like animals.

Only after the forces of this evil my family has known about for years, choose to wage war, would I be allowed to join with my family in a battle against the united forces of evil in a final battle, an armageddon of might against the few, that could spell the elimination of the Human species if what we were attempting to do failed.

My final words.

If I wasn’t a writer, I would want to be all of the things I have written about over the years. All of the above are thoughts that spawned four novels and hundreds upon hundreds of short stories. With each idea, each creation, I became those characters, I experienced their terrors, their loves, their unique perspectives on what was going on around them at the moment.

It wasn’t until Sherry McGuinn challenged me, I realized what has been happening all these years. I have become who and what I write.

Each time I connect my heart and my head to a story, I no longer am the writer. I’m the character or characters. I’m the anguish, the passion, the laughter, and the danger.

I will shout this from the mountain top or tell anyone willing to lend me an ear. There is no career or craft in this world better than being creative.

And yes, musicians are creative. Sherry, please don’t get me wrong. Let me set the record straight. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket (even without holes) if I had to.

But maybe, just maybe, I’ll write about a character in a rock band and that character can jam with the best of them. If I ever do know this. I’ll be right there on stage with them belting out some of the most melodic tunes and fantastic guitar riffs anyone has ever heard.

Thanks So Much For Reading

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com

© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

P.G. Barnett

Written by

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James' stories. Featured In MuckRack. Top Writer In Fiction.

Dark Sides of the Truth

Stories Spawned From The Darker Side Of Reality

P.G. Barnett

Written by

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James' stories. Featured In MuckRack. Top Writer In Fiction.

Dark Sides of the Truth

Stories Spawned From The Darker Side Of Reality

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