I have a vision, a vision of greatness.
I live in a small town. I work a dead-end job that pays decently but destroys my soul a little bit more everyday. With this job, I pay my rent, my electric bill, fill the car I share with my sister with gas. I get by, I don't struggle, but I don't save any money either.
What I truly want, want more than anything, is to be a writer, a great writer. I'm about ninety pages into my novel. It's a beautiful novel and I love it, but the edges are dull. I write as though in a trance, pull the images through the veil of fog that clouds my brain. And how can I do otherwise when I look at the horizon and see nothing but miles of concrete, crumbling commercial buildings and grey skies?
All of the greats--Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Shelley, Capote, they traveled. They saw snowy mountains, African plains, craggy cliffs, tropical jungles. What a dream it would be to walk in their footsteps, to escape the dreariness of monotony and discover a world beyond my dull horizon.
Travel in 2013 is a lot more expensive than it was in Hemingway's day, however, and I despair of funding a trip around the world. I despair of becoming more, of ever leaving this town. I discovered this website and decided to give it a try, as petty as my plea is in comparison to many of the suffering who post here. If you chance upon this page and have a dollar to spare, send it my way and help to fund my escape.
Should I, by some beautiful chance of fate, meet with success and travel the world with a pen and paper in hand, should I publish my book, I will complete the circle and pass on the good deed by donating the first royalties I receive to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.