I think was a little over a year ago when a voice in my started yelling that I ned to be writing. Books specifically. That voice had been whispering for the past few years, telling me that it was ridiculous how little I write on the blog as I enjoy it so much. Then the year before I turned forty, the voice grow louder. This prompted a weird behavior to announce to people at random times about how much I wanted to write a book. I had no other information to offer them other than this desire though. In fact, oddly, or perhaps no so oddly, at this time I stopped writing pretty much altogether. Then at the end of December I had a sit down with myself and wrote down what my goals for the next few years were. There sat the words in print. Write a book.
I thought about a conversation I had year ago with my grandmother, whom I call Ga, about goals. She told me about her desire to write books. Ga has written a handful of books over the years but the first was while raising 5 kids under the age of 10 and helping her husband run a booming business. I asked her how she did it, how she found the time and discipline. Her reply has stuck with me in it’s perfection ever since. She simply said: “I wanted to write a book. So I got up at 3 in the morning and wrote before everyone was up. I just did it.” I have thought of that exchange many times since, especially when I have felt too tired to take on another project or to pursue something that I really want. I mean really, if Ga could find the time in the 1960’s with a house full of kids, I can surly do it now in an age where technology (and not having children) makes life much easier in many aspects.
By February, I was obsessing about writing. In December I had started writing in a journal every morning no matter what time I got up (at 2:45 am at times for a live tv show I was doing, see Ga, I CAN do it!) or where I was. I started with 2 pages a day and moved up to 3. I added “writer” to my bio in all of my personal social media bios. There was even a brief attempt at co-writing with a friend of mine, but we quickly realized that we were talking about 2 different book ideas, so that end, but the obsession has only grown stronger. This month a new level has even emerged. I am now reading books that are about writing books which is kind of odd, but I think in my mind, its the equivalent of the research I would do before any other business move.
Today while reading The Forest For The Trees I started thinking about how long this desire has been inside of me to write. I thought all the way back. To the beginning. To the 2nd grade when we wrote and bound books in school and I loved it so much that still have them. To the teachers every year from elementary school all the way through college who told me to keep writing and never stop, that I had a voice to and a natural talent to communicate though words. To the the column in the paper I had in HS, to the writing award I was runner up for, to the professor in college who came into the bar where I bartended and excitedly told her husband that I was the girl she had been talking about for 3 years. That she used my paper about how the Beastie Boys explained something not related to music as an example to all of her classes ever since. To the amount of guys who tried to sleep with me after reading things I read aloud in class or let them read; because they related to it/felt a connection to me/wanted to consume me, I’m not really sure what that was all about, but writing can be a serious dating magnet. To the psychology professor who said we could get out of taking the exam if we wrote a 10 page paper and I gleefully wrote 20 pages and was told to make it into a book. To all the guest blog posts and countless filled journals and hundreds of letters and scraps and stories. And finally to both the lists in my planner of my favorite things to do and of my greatest skills which both include writing. And for the first the first time in my life, I just put all of that together in one place and sat back to look at it.
And I have one question. Why am I still not writing?
Well technically I am writing. I write every morning. But I’d like to have a more focused subject in mind. I have one that has been bouncing around in my head for a year about confidence. But I’m not there yet. And then two days ago, an idea can whizzing into my head like a thunderbolt. It was so intense that I stood at the sink not washing the dishes in my hand, kind of in shock. The yelling voice in my head was now shrieking that I have to tell this story. So I’m going to start. I wrote an outline this morning. As I have been trying to write an outline for a confidence book for 6 months, I was amazed when I felt the need to grab the closest piece of paper, flip it over and write it all down. The first sentence of chapter 1 followed right behind. Wish me luck.
photo credit: Michał Grosicki