Welcome to another Author Spotlight!! Today we have Estevan Vega - whose extensive list of published works includes the very popular Arson Series and newly released Winter Sparrow. Today Estevan joins us with a fabulous guest post to help bring our myths and realities into perspective. Enjoy!
Myth and Reality by Estevan Vega
Fortune. Fame. Glamor. Treasure. Rising stars. These are the things we as humans strive for, the things artists dream of. For some, they are the ultimate, the catalyst; for others, they’re merely party favors, additions to an alleged fulfilled existence. And still, there are those who have reached neither fame nor fortune, neither treasure nor stardom nor glamor. Yet somehow in this grand scheme of beauty and ashes there lies a human spirit still awaiting great things.
There is this myth that being an author instantly gives you value. Partly true. Partly false. But I have heard time and time again the difference between being a writer and being an author is publication; and in a sense, all publication really is, is vindication, recognition, or acclaim. Essentially, someone—the faces change like the seasons—thought some book was worthy of the public’s attention. But it doesn’t make the work necessarily better or worse than another writer’s. Simply, the work being published is believed to have cash potential. But this is reality, and I’m supposed to be talking about myths. Yes, the myth. The myth can be beautiful, grand, yet few ever become it. The ‘it’ being this magical, fantastic author whom everybody adores and swoons upon reading his or her masterpiece. Ah, the myth. The myth of fame. The myth of fortune.
But I suppose without this myth some would not even dare to try (myself included), to dream, to leap off the precipice never knowing how far to the bottom, and always unsure if the teetering cliff really held safety. After all, there is safety in monotony, and there is safety in the real. The myth, however beautiful, however enchanting, only sometimes glimmers with truth and only sometimes can it be fully embodied. Don’t get me wrong, there are Stephen King and Stephanie Meyers and Suzanne Collins and John Grisham. They all do exist. They all are real. But for every one of those, there are hundreds, even thousands waiting to be heard, mouths sealed with a hundred secrets, minds torn between the two realms of life. Is it better to exist in a world where the likelihood of success is slim but the possibility for greatness, though slimmer, exists there too? Or should we follow safety and tread with cautious steps the plain line of indecision and unlived lives?
The myth, while intrinsically tragic, is not without purpose. A purpose to drive a boy to sit down and create, and in doing so, allow him to become a man. A purpose to offer a glimpse of a new reality, to whisper to that dreamer, to that believer that she can be more, that her words can paint a picture, that her words, composed and arranged ever so uniquely, can breathe a breath of life into a weathered soul.
In spite of the tragedies that pervade myth, there are glimpses of hope, oaths sworn, worlds colliding, lives lived. The journey of this article, much like the journey of any story, any writer, is not merely to arrive at a solution but to laugh fearlessly at the unknown and say “I dare you to come against me.” It’s smirking in the face of familial and literary rejection, job loss, arrogant scrutiny, bad reviews, empty pockets, sleepless days and nights, and dreams still waiting to be made flesh. The existence of a writer, or a true artist, is both myth and reality, I think. Fortune does await some. But it does not mean sorrow has forgotten them. A collision lingers and brings all to their knees. A collision of both realities. Maybe, in this new landscape of physical and electronic, dream and flesh, there can be a union of transformed life. This is just the boy talking, the dreamer still waiting for his dreams to take flight and trying to prepare for the ride. The realm of myth and reality already exists, you see, and it’s waiting. Happiness and melancholy. Bitter and sweet. Poetry and bone. After all, these are the substances that war and peace and life are made of. Life, the great mystery, the great story yet to be told.
What are you waiting for?
spread the fire!
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