crafting the great american novel is almost impossible, and i'm good at setting myself up for failure.

i've always been fairly good at writing. for years i was the woman who came off the bench to save my family's and friend's letters, and essays, and poems. putting words together never took much of a thought, but i was never really sure if they were any good.

although i consider myself the master of procrastination, i've decided to try to master something else entirely: actually writing. in the last post i mentioned that i carried a line in my head for a month, and just decided (or willed myself) to write it down.

on monday i began writing with little more than a rough sketch of my character, and a rickety plot idea. i'm a sucker for love stories, and happy endings, but i know that life isn't always so forgiving and kind. the story i'm writing is...both full of me, and not about me at all. it's complicated, and painful, and exceedingly optimistic.

i am only 3 pages deep, and i'm finding it hard to harness my thoughts into anything i can stand. i'm overly critical of my writing. i always hate it and think it's the worst thing since Eddie Murphy tried to sing. but i'm hopeful and trying REALLY hard not to psych myself out and lose focus. i've decided that in order to stay on track, i will write at least one page per day. at worst, i will have a lot of horribly written prose, and at best, i will have 365 pages of genius (ha!). either way, i'm going to keep plugging and putting fingers to keys.



[sidenote: to my fellow blogger authors (Geoffery? Torrance? Bless?)...know of any good sites and books that help when writing fiction? i'm in desperate need. holla.]

I am a master procrastinator.

I have been saying I am going to write for the longest time. I’ve walked around with the same line, and the same idea for a story in my head for at least a month. Even though I’ve had the itch the write, the need (or perhaps just the want) to write, I haven’t been writing.

Over the long weekend I planned on cracking open my laptop, starting a new, bright, blinding word document, and…writing. This weekend I read. I devoured the book Random Family by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc and marveled at just how much my life was both so similar and yet completely opposite of the lives of those in her book.

Her book is amazing. Although it is a work of non-fiction her words possess the beauty and realness of a novel. I found myself rooting, and hoping against hope that the people in the story came out ok. And then I got jealous.

Whenever I read a good book, I am envious of the author’s ability to connect word to meaning, and meaning to emotion. To weave stories and words and ideas into something so complete and so real, people are compelled to tell others.

I dream of being that dope one day.

I dream of writing words that touch people in a real and profound way. I dream of being more than the 13th man in the literary crowd, cheering others on, but really wanting to get in the game.

Tonight. I cracked open my laptop and wrote down that line I’ve been carrying in my head for the past month. I also began writing the story. It’s not astounding. I am not a fiction writer, but I am a person with stories--many, many stories just waiting to march from my head and onto the page.

At the end of it all (or maybe the beginning?), I hope to be able to share them with you, and welcome you into another section of my mind, my life. When it is all said and done, I hope you will enjoy what it is I have to offer. And if not…hey, at least I tried.

sometimes I sit and wonder how my life ended up like THIS. this meaning a solo wife & mommy, trying desperately to hold it all together…on my own (sorta). I wonder what God is trying to teach me by going through all of this. sometimes I wonder why I wasn’t more dedicated to my writing when I was in the city of dreams. Why I let so many opportunities slip through my fingers. I wonder why I’m still not doing what my heart wants to do. I wonder will I ever be brave enough to just go for it.

I wonder and I wonder and I wonder some more.

When I’m alone with my thoughts I question how we get into the situations that are our lives. I try not to sit and feel sorry for myself, or wonder what could have been if I would have just turned left, and not right, because that’s useless. it’s all spilled milk and there’s no use in crying over it now, right?

When I get into a funk and start feeling all down for myself, usually, something or someone comes along and makes me smile. Lately, it has been my little one. He cracks me up with all of his 2-year-old bravado.

My baby is hilarious. He is starting to “read.” Every morning he runs to the car and starts calling out letters, while pointing to those on the back of the car (“E!” “A!”). Although he hasn’t quite matched up the right letter to the correct sound, it cracks me up. He is so happy to point & shout out letters, it makes me happy just to see him having so much fun. And that makes our commute just a bit more pleasant. I am no longer grumpy, or tired, or feeling down….

I am thankful

I am thankful to see the day break across the sky. Thankful I can pay for extra collect calls on holidays. Thankful for beloved’s sanity (and my own!). thankful for long weekends, and 44 hour rendezvous with my Mr., and cheesecake(!), and holding hands, and cooking dinner for my princes, and reading with my son, and everything I often overlook. I am thankful for the struggle and the lessons God is constantly teaching me, in spite of how much they sometimes hurt.

As the holiday season approaches…what are you guys MOST thankful for this year?

Bless.

i have been in a constant state of motion for the past few weeks: rushing to complete a huge project for school, feverishly grading papers & getting them into the system, and traveling 2,578 miles and back to see beloved for 44 hours.

i am spent.

there are so many emotions and words and sounds caught up in my head right now, but i just can't get them out. perhaps if i rest, they will flow.

soon come.

for now...i'm just saying hello, it's me.

it's amazing how the universe works.

lately i've been feeling as if something has been missing. feeling like i'm spending my life working, and not enjoying my time on earth. in the last post i mentioned that i was searching for my passion, when all along, i already knew.

i love to write. i love to fling my words and thoughts into the atmosphere for people to digest, to enjoy, to discuss, to devour (nightly lol). it's something i've always been (fairly) good at. but yet i continued to hesitate. i continued to make excuses as to why i wasn't writing (no inspiration!), why i wasn't submitting work (lazy!), or why i wasn't working within the writing world (too hard to break into!). all along my issue wasn't about being unaware of my strengths & passion, but rather it has ALWAYS been about doubting myself and being afraid i'm not good enough.

slowly, i have been taking steps to sort of break free of my self-doubt. recently i've submitted to two mags, and just when the idea of (re)starting my own lit journal/press weighed heavily on my mind, last night a friend asked me if he should ressurrect a lit project we founded some time ago. kizmet.

immediately my mind began racing and i started talking a mile a minute about how we could/should/WILL do it. how, this time, we need to be super serious and business-minded and not just take our talent and skills for granted. after all, we have kids and families we need to feed. i think i overwhelmed him. matter of fact, i know i did. he told me my energy was like a bully LOL and we needed to slow down. but i'm so excited. the seed has defintely been planted.

it's crazy.

the moment you make a conscious decision to find ways to be in pursuit of, to try to reach for what you want, to grab it with both hands and believe...the universe opens up and makes room for you.