Write a Book?

View of Zion National Park, looking west (or down canyon) from along the Angel's Landing Trail
View of Zion National Park, looking west (or down canyon) from along the Angel’s Landing Trail. That’s the Virgin River below – it’s cut through seven layers of rock in Zion over the years. 

I’ve always wanted to write. As far back as I can remember. In fourth grade, after my parents split, it seemed like I wanted to write fiction – plays that my friends and I could act out. I liked creating these worlds where things could be different from mine. Things could be better. Problems could be solved with just the flourish of my pen (we only had typewriters back then. Yes, I’m one of those people who lived before the age of computers. Don’t call me old though, or I may just have to smack you. 🙂 )

Why would anyone want to read what I write? And actually pay for it? When they could read part of my blog and get the same gist of things? Will they think I’m doing it just for the  money? What if they hate it? What if it gets bad reviews when I finally put it up there for the world to see? And worse, what if no one wants to buy it??

These are the self-doubting thoughts that immediately start to come to mind when I sit down to actually start writing. I start to over-analyze every sentence, every word I put onto paper (or in this case, my chromebook’s screen). I try to fight through it by just continuing on, knowing I can always edit later. That’s what I would tell others in my situation, so why do I find it so hard to follow my own advice?

What should the book be about? My journey into learning more about myself? My journey through depression? My attempt at minimalization? My drive across this country in a car with five cats and a dog? My 180 degree change from working at a well paying job in the Ivory Tower, to a world where I get paid to clean up after nonstop-pooping rabbits and clean poopy butts with my bare hands every day? (This, from the woman who never wanted to change a baby’s diaper because I thought it was so gross.)  Some of these, or all of these? Or something else? Should it just be a work of fiction instead?

I’ve read through books on how to write in the past and usually come away feeling even more self-doubtful. Which scares me, because I know from many therapy sessions that I can sometimes have a very harsh inner voice. It’s one I’ve learned to quiet over the years but from time to time, still rears its ugly head (most recently, just a few days ago at work. I could tell I was being irrational but also couldn’t stop myself from feeling hurt when I knew the people around me were only trying to help, with their words of advice.)

Why do I find it so much easier to let the words flow on this blog than when I start to actually type onto a blank piece of paper? 

I’d love to hear any and all thoughts any of you might have on this subject – please drop me a line below, and thank you. Even if it’s to tell me I’m insane and shouldn’t do it, I’ll understand. I appreciate candor in all things, even if it’s sometimes hard to hear or take in at the time.

Nights like tonight…

My baby boy, Sebastian. Don't you just want to reach out and rub him or poke him in his belly?? :-)
My baby boy, Sebastian. Don’t you just want to reach out and rub him or poke him in his belly?? 🙂

Tonight is one of those nights in Boston where it’s dark before 6 (not that the sun ever showed its face today, anyway), and stormy, and you can hear the ever-constant gusting of the wind outside. I sit on my love seat near the window and look out at the branches at the tops of the very tall trees behind our building wave back and forth in the wind. It’s one of those nights where, if I still had a car, I would be very careful as to where I park it, lest a branch come down and land on the top of its roof, like I saw happen to someone else last year. It’s one of those nights where I sit and hold Osito in my arms and try to comfort her little chihuahua baby from shaking so much, and then I look around at my cats who are looking back at me, and I think of how blessed I am to have all of them to love, and protect from nasty weather like this, and people that don’t feel as kindly toward animals as I do. It’s one of those nights. Read more

Sorting it all out

Looking up at the clouds through the trees
Looking up at the clouds through the trees

Maybe it’s the stress of the craziness of the fall semester weighing down on me, but I feel like my mind is all a jumble some days. So, I’m writing this post today in the hopes that it will help me to sort things out. The more I write or blog, the more I want to do of the same. That’s a good thing in my mind. Read more