Doing to pretend rather than pretending to do

I've always seen myself as a writer; perhaps, more a 'wanna-be' than an actual 'true' writer for the sole reason that a writer writes. Period. And I don't really, save for occasional inspired (desperate?) out bursts.

In my mind I have convinced myself that a true writer writes obsessively, or rather, religiously – this idea sprouts from a part romantic notion and part realistic understanding. After all, anyone can write obsessively (okay, not maybe anyone per se) but fewer still can probably deliver with true intent, purpose and substance.

In a way my failure to write regularly I find deeper meaning and a relation, perhaps only tangentially, to the failure of the country that I live in. (This analysis could be easily misconstrued as a rather petty attempt to add 'substance' to what is otherwise drivel – of (desperate) intent (to write) without (any) purpose and/or (real) substance. It is not. You, dear reader, are of course entitled to misconstrue its true intent and purpose.)

To put it in one sentence: No one is doing what they are supposed to.