It's the Words That Throw Me

I think I am going to start writing again. Not blogging or journaling (as if I do that on a regular basis. Ha), but actually writing. You know, stories and stuff. Like I used to. Or, really, like I used to want to but never had the motivation/courage/follow through to actually do.

For a while there, I was going to be a writer, you know. In fact, I have pretty much intended to be published and selling since I was six. You can see how well that turned out. Luckily there is the wonderful internet, on which I post my drivel for all five of you to read. (Thanks for that, by the way.)

Back in the day, I had a whole anthology of short stories planned out. I still have all the work I did on them and all the ideas still swim in my head every so often, reminding me that I do think of some possibly cool things every now and then. Reminding me that I used to believe I was a good writer, even though I am probably just mediocre. Now, I pretty much just write because I never wanted to get out of the habit. In the meantime, I've gotten out of the habit.

I don't write fiction anymore. I had an idea for a story today and thought to myself, I used to write all the time, I used to love how the creative process made me feel, I used to be excited about putting pen to paper. Then I got bogged down with wanting to tell my own story--and finding out that I didn't have a whole lot of story to tell--and I lost my voice for fiction. But, an idea cropped into my head today while I was driving to Nancy's. An idea that sparked something in the corner of my mind and brought back all the old stories I was going to write and a whole slew of new ideas. And I started to feel that excitement again. But, as always, doubt crept in and I remembered that I never really considered myself that excellent of a writer. I know practice makes perfect, but you can't fix stupid and that is how I felt, trying to write about things I didn't know, trying to create realistic and entertaining dialog, trying to make it all sound eloquent while not being too stupidly straightforward with how I wrote my prose. And I worried that I would face all those same roadblocks. I know most of them were in my head, that I could do it if I pushed past and let myself do it, that nothing I put on paper is permanent, that I can always re-write. But, the doubt hangs over.

And so does the desire. It came back to me in such a flood it was overwhelming. I wanted to start right then, but didn't have the time. Tonight, sitting at home, the urge is stronger than ever and I want to try. Maybe if I can tap into some emotion, maybe if I can feel something real and work it into my writing, maybe if I can write about something I know...because, I haven't lived a whole lot and I haven't seen very much, but I have felt longing, I have felt desperation, I have felt guilt and fear and worry and I can write about those things. I have never had much luck in the past, bringing in my own feelings when I have written fiction. I have always thought it read so flat, no matter what I was feeling when I wrote it. But, I don't want to turn my back once and for-all on something I loved so much for so long. So, I think to myself, I have to try. It certainly can't hurt to try. And maybe this time I can.

Maybe this time I will feel it, and then I can write it, and then you can feel it too.

And, sure, if you want me to, I will post it here. Actually, I was going to do that anyway, you needn't ask.

All five of you. ;)

I Won't Abandon My Foolish Notion, It's Too Much Fun