Ok, I thought to myself in thick disbelief. How would I do start? I don’t even know how to write.
It doesn’t matter. Just write.
Who in the world would read anything that I write? I can’t even speak correct English, nevermind write it! Definitely, nobody would read anything I write. It would just be embarrassing for everyone involved.
My tired eyes flickered shut and I saw a picture flash in my mind of myself, holding my book, standing and talking before a crowd of people. What in the world? I thought I was losing my mind. I was embarrassed that the thought even crossed my mind. I even looked around to see if anyone was there to catch me thinking such crazy thoughts.
With one final chuckle out loud at the ridiculous notion of me writing, I turned off my night lamp and snuggled into my pillow. I hoped that the crazy thoughts would be gone in the morning. Otherwise, I would feel obligated to check myself in to the local mental hospital. Hearing voices trying to convince me of lucrative ideas was definitely not normal. Especially when I talk back.
I used to talk to myself when I walked home from Middle School. Now, I know I just told you that only crazy people talk to themselves, but before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain. It was really quiet on that field. I saved time by walking across a huge field complex that connected my school to the forest across the street from my house. It was so big you probably couldn’t hear somebody yelling to you from the other side. I would talk to myself to keep me from thinking too much.
I would think about somebody kidnapping me on my walk home. I can be dramatic like that. I think about the possibility of something like being kidnapped and then the whole scenario plays out in my mind. I see the scary stalker van pulling up, the masked men with hooded sweatshirts jumping out as if on a secret extraction mission, and the ropes they would use to bind my wrists and ankles. Nobody would even hear me scream. It scared me to think about things like that. So I would talk to keep myself from thinking.
Sometimes I would sing, trying to memorize my favorite songs. Sometimes I would come up with lyrics to my own songs I would someday write. Sometimes I would reenact conversations or arguments I had with teachers, friends, or my parents.
I would say all of the things that I should have said, but never thought about saying in the moment. I could always think of the perfect things to say during those one-sided conversations walking home. I thought about bringing a tape recorder with me, but I never did. I should have done that. I came up with some really good stuff. Perhaps I could have used some of that material for this “book” I’m apparently going to write.
But that's besides the point.
Back to that night.
It was as if a switch was flipped. All I think about is writing. It is in my face everywhere I go. When I relive memories from my childhood in my head I wonder if the story would captivate a reader. When I meet a stranger, I think perhaps she could be an interesting character for “my book.” I think all the time about things to write about. The only problem is, I just can't get it out and on paper.
It seems like everyone and their mother, and their dog, and their dog’s mother is dipping their feet into the testing waters of writing. Everyone has something to say and seems to have even more to write. There is a world of writers out there that I guess I’m supposed to be a part of. The only problem is I’m not sure what to write.
And I’m not sure how I fit in.
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write away prompts:
015: Why do you write? What motivates and inspires you?
016: Have you ever felt compelled to do something that you thought was crazy? How did it turn out? Were you glad you did it? Do you regret it? Have you not done it yet? What’s holding you back?
017: Make a list of things to write about. Pick one thing on the list and start writing.
Go ahead -
Write away!
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