Yes, dear reader–I am stuck. My writing has all but come to a standstill. A grinding halt, complete with skid marks, scarring the path I have traveled.
However, don’t panic! I have a hunch things won’t remain this way for long. My mind has been turning over a few thoughts–nothing concrete and visual, but something that makes me smile nonetheless.
Therefore, what better to do when one cannot get going than to blog about it and just let random thoughts hit the page.
Enter the random…
Earlier today, I was talking to my very good friend about the oddball things that happened to me when I was younger, and it got me thinking.
Well, get comfy and I’ll tell you.
When I was a little girl, I learned the art of self-indulgence. My home life afforded me loads of unsupervised time to get into all sorts of shenanigans; and I took full advantage.
I was impetuous, headstrong, spoiled, and yes—very bossy. Because of both my situation and my attitude, (it was then I perfected my signature tone) I usually always got what I wanted.
You can imagine a life of excess becoming lackluster after a while; and it was. I came to find that my world didn’t quite mesh with the outside, and that terrified me.
Alone and misunderstood, I would end up—years later, realizing that what I needed was something completely different from what I have known.
I know it might not all make sense—but I warned you it was random.
Writing was always the underlying theme. It was constantly a way to escape, to draw back and reflect, and of course—to sooth. The characters I wrote about, up until recently, were always happy, always had the perfect lives, and always fantastically boring.
As I look back, they were all yearning for the same thing…someone to understand.
So, where does that leave us? Will my characters learn from my real life hiccups? I have one thing rolling around in my head chasing that question around…
The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself. ~Anna Quindlen