Planning to write is not writing. Outlining … researching … talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
It’s never too late to be who you might have been.
I was watching The Day After Tomorrow last night and Dennis Quaid’s character made a grammatical error (yes, I can be a freakin’ grammar geek sometimes. I try not to be too anal about it). He asked the question, “How much further do we have to go?” What his character should have asked is “How much farther do we have to go?”
Farther = actual distance. When father is used it means actual physical distance.
Further = definition of degree/depth, or metaphorical distance. It is a time, degree, or quantity.
Remember it this way …
Farther has the word “far” in it relating to distance, actual distance that is.
Further has the word “fur” in it as in “thick fur” or depth/degree.
I know it sounds a bit silly but it works.
Examples of further:
Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.