Beginning is Continuing

I had a blog when I was a freshman in college. Sadly, I cannot resurrect those poetical musings for our mutual amusement/cringes. (You really should feel grateful - fifteen years later, all I remember is thinly-veiled allusions to boys I liked and congratulating myself on my own 17-yr-old cleverness.) So I am starting a new one, when everything and nothing about me has changed.

I'm scared to start this, though. I have a lot of very good excuses for going back to my leaf-raking and book-reading and Candy-Crushing. I have a challenging life with a fascinating and unique kid, who fills me with joy, tests my fortitude and endurance, and fuels my addiction to Diet Coke. I have a brilliant, funny, loving husband whose deepest fantasies inevitably involve a spotless kitchen. I also have a lifelong dream of being a published novelist, and how does this help me in that quest, exactly?

Here's the thing that hasn't changed for me though - through all those intervening up-and-down years, and even from my earliest memories, I have had a boundless, insatiable hunger for storytelling. I want to hear stories, read stories, watch stories, and tell stories. There is a soul-deep desire in me to bring stories into the world, and that desire knows no genre. Unfortunately, that desire also knows no discipline.

I wrote a book once. It's short, it's sweet, it's pretty crappy. And I am SO proud of it. And I want to do it again. But for some reason, going through years of fertility treatment and a few years of extra schooling and loads of therapy and having a baby and figuring out how to raise a kid with special needs has slowed my drive to the pace of an anemic sea turtle crossing the Gobi desert. (And yeah, I know that's kind of an awkward metaphor, but I'm rusty so you'll just have to let it ride.) So I need some help getting my mojo back - will you help me?

I'm going to commit to writing a post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Because preschool. And if I post here, that's proof that I not only wrote a blog post, but I also wrote a bit of fiction on the same day. (I know you want to read it. You do. Because you love me. But I love you too, so I'll only subject you to my mental diarrhea in one venue at a time. (I just said diarrhea in my first blog post. Get out while you can.))

So thanks for allowing me to use you. I bet the last person who used you for their own purposes didn't thank you for it, so I'm feeling virtuous now. If you're willing to tag along for this, you'll hear whatever I'm contemplating that day, which could include pretty much anything because I love cultivating an eclectic brainspace.

I'm kind of embarrassed and annoyed by that last sentence. Thanks for being gentle with me while I recover from that.

Last thing - the title. I've done most of my creating in life by strong-arming my perfectionism into submission. This leaves me feeling powerful, but also sets me up for feeling more intimidated by every foray into something new. So this blogging thing? I'm just going to try. Most posts will be first drafts. Attempts. I'm looking forward to trying this new thing, as trying as it may be. So try leaving a comment! Let's be awkward together.