One morning Zarathustra rose with the dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus: Great star! What happiness would your shining be, if you had not those for whom you shine!
-Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

There's a scene in Pulp Fiction where one gangster tells another gangster that he wants to "walk the earth" like Christ did. I didn't like the movie very much, but that scene stuck with me. I suppose that the idea of "walking the earth" sounds pretty attractive to some people-glamorous even-letting the winds of circumstance waft you this way and that, taking you from one adventure to another, where you can right some wrongs, administer a little justice, and occasionally let a pearl or two of profound wisdom fall from your lips...sort of like that guy in Kung Fu. Western civilization is built on mythologies about people like that-heroes from Orestes to Christ to Han Solo-which is why a scene like that affects us and doesn't get left on the cutting-room floor.

It sometimes amazes me when someone asks what "I do", and I tell them I'm a writer. They seem to think that's so glamorous, like I must spend my time walking the earth-dashing about in a white linen suit with my public fawning at my feet. I don't get it. I'm sure you might be able to find people like that who call themselves writers, but they probably don't actually write much. They're too busy taking their white linen suits to the cleaners.

Writers don't actually see their public much. I spend most of my time sitting in front of my computer in a ragged t-shirt and baggy, comfortable jeans, with my hair a mess because I got up at 6:00a.m. to finish an article I was too tired to finish last night and my deadline is 10:30 this morning. Pretty glamorous, huh?

For most creative people, the work is like that - lots of completely unglamorous drudgery, with an occasional reward. A painter spends his time breathing fumes from mineral spirits and listening to the radio, so that he can finally get cleaned up and stand in a gallery somewhere hoping one of the white-wine-drinking people notice his paintings and whip out their checkbook. An actor sits on the living room sofa saying his lines over and over to himself; a dancer tapes the blisters on her feet, sweats, and massages her sore calves; the composer sits pounding away at her keyboard until her fingers bleed. And all the while, there's the fantasy that this opus, this paint-drenched canvas, this web-page, or this opening night will get noticed and make the phone ring off the wall offering fame and fortune - or at least another gig and enough money to pay the rent with some left over for groceries and gas.

Writers don't even get a lot of feedback. Performers get to hear applause at the end of the song or the scene. Writers, however, just do their work and send it off; they hope to see it in print eventually, but never know whether it's being read by thousands of people or winding up on the bottom of a bird-cage somewhere. So it's nice when you actually hear from someone that your work had an impact on them.

I picked up my son at the YMCA a couple of weeks ago. He was sitting in the little juice bar they have, talking with a kid who's probably about fifteen. The kid wanted to ask me something. "You write 'Notes from the Cultural Wasteland?" I do. "Wow! That's my favorite." I noticed he had copies of Impact in vinyl sleeves in his notebook. I wondered what his teachers thought when they saw that. It made me happy. I wondered whether I had an impact on the kid's life - whether maybe something I wrote made him think about things a little differently. I thought about my responsibility to him.

Later that week, a couple of people told me they'd read my last column - the one about profanity-and had decided to try to "cuss less". I liked that even better. I don't think I "walk the earth" saying anything especially profound - I don't even pretend to have any real answers - but if I can make someone think about things just a little differently, that's great.

The thing is, you don't have to "walk the earth" like some Buddha to have an impact on people. You don't have to be creative, and you sure as heck don't have to be rich and famous. You just have to try to behave with some integrity, and think about what you're doing before you do it...and don't hide your best intentions and deepest thoughts under a rock.

When I think of the people that have had the greatest effects on my life, most weren't rich, famous, high-profile, or even very creative. Some were, certainly - like John Lennon, for example, or Albert Ellis - but most were just "ordinary people" who went through their lives doing the best they could, while lending their wisdom and experience to those who sought it. There's a couple of former employers, for instance, a few teachers, an editor or two, and the guy who works on my car - people who know what they want to do, have the guts and gumption to do it, don't waste any time making excuses or worrying about whether you "approve" of them or not.

So anyway, back to that kid - that friend of my son's. I hope he grows up wanting to change the world - to make people think a little differently, and to make them see things in a way they hadn't before. I know I did. Of course, it never occurred to me when I was fifteen that you could change the world just by living in it, and by doing the best you could at what you did the best. I thought you had to at least get on television.

--Morris Sullivan

Morris Sullivan Morris Sullivan has written "Notes from the Cultural Wastleland", a column of cultural criticism, for four years. It first appeared in Tabula Rasa, then Eleven, and now Impact, where he also writes regular feature stories. He has written and produced five plays. His "Weekender" columns run in the Thursday edition of "Go 4 It", the A&E section of the Daytona Beach News-Journal, and he's contributed to The Orlando Weekly and other area publications. Sullivan holds an MBA and serves as financial officer at Theatre Downtown. Other Articles I've Written