Thursday, January 12, 2012

I am trying very hard to write something--anything--fictional. Not THE book as Jim keeps asking me, but a drabble to get my mind thinking creatively.

The issue is that I can't seem to create anything separate away from myself and my family. "Write what you know" is a great suggestion, but I don't desire to write a thinly veiled roman a clef.

Come on, muse, where are you? You whispered in my ear constantly in my teens. Now that I have time and energy again, you've hidden yourself. Please come back. I have cookies.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Update

Earlier I groused about how I felt I was drowning in monotony, longing for an inner fire to be lit that would put color, vitality, and passion into my life.

I remember when I wrote those lines. It was grey outside. Which consequently made me feel grey inside. I am solar powered, and if kept overcast for longer than a day I begin to wither.

BUT. I discovered THIS:

And my eyes were opened.

It is up to ME to discover what moves me. I do not have the time to lose waiting for something outside of me to knock softly on the door. Rather, I must go outside of my narrow comfort zone, think, experience, ACT.

Because I spent my entire life getting to where and who I am today, and I want it to be worth it.

Minor Personal Epiphany

I have come to the conclusion a common trait is desiring to be a part of something larger than yourself...but if I am to be completely honest, what I really want is to be a big fish in a little pond.

Being a big fish in a big pond is being a celebrity. And although I am sure I would enjoy the novelty of it, I am certain that it would wear on me quickly. I am a fairly quiet person and while I trust people at large, do not give up my personal trust easily. So I do not think I would enjoy being constantly followed. Frankly, I have enough of that at home with four children and two dogs. (But if Ellen DeGeneres would ever like to interview me about anything, I'd free my calendar immediately.)

But being a big fish in a small pond is being recognized in your personal niche. I value words, both written and spoken, so it should come as no surprise that I look up to authors. I follow lesser known writers on Twitter and long to see them gain professional success beyond what they have already achieved. All of this is a fancy way of saying I'm a fangirl. Yes, I love John Green with a crazy passion and have dreamed, yes, REM-style dreamed, of him giving me a hug. Not that Mrs. Green or my husband has any cause for concern. I long to have Maureen Johnson to my home for supper. If I could lure Jenny Lawson into my kitchen, I'd basely feed her brownies and bribe her with any treats I could concoct for her company.

Because I am so private, I am humbled and awed by the written novel. To have created something so personal, created solely by imagination and determination, inspires me. Holding a book in my hand that is personally signed by the author is like touching them for the briefest moment.

I am enjoying watching the The Fault in Our Stars excitement on Twitter today as the book releases. John has worked incredibly hard to create this world contained by two covers. We his fans have watched and read and listened and laughed as he's shared about it on You Tube, Twitter, and Tumblr. We have preordered our copies so we might have a signed edition, and all wonder if we will be lucky enough to receive one that has been further personalized by a drawing of a Yeti by his wife, or a fish by his brother.

When my copy is in my eager troll paws at last, I will gently run my finger over the Jscrawl and wish I could shake John's hand in person. But alas, I am but a tiny fish in a pond.