Since I Can't Write, I'll Write

I'm aggravated. Such is not useful news. It is quite frrreeezing in our office, and worse yet there is not any work-related paraphernalia to get accomplished. I tried tying a paper clip to the fringies in my scarf, and couldn't do it. There was a reason for trying...I mean, I'm sure there was. I thought I would try writing on "my project," and that didn't work, so I've started this blog. Anyone can talk about nothing, but it can be hard trying to write about something. Every human can be a published writer. Not every writer can be published. This thought was on my mind.

I have tried and tried since Christmas Eve Eve to write my first children's novel (my first anything novel), and have found the greatest success running into a brick wall. It is just the best experience! Writing? No, but running head first into a finely crafted brick wall. It's a worthy distraction; more so than school or doing dishes...NO WORSE-- doing laundry. I really love writing. I was, and I guess am still more-than-excited about this book, because it's something I would have read as a kid. That makes me laugh! I was a weird kid. Might be why my brother said my scribbles were something he absolutely wouldn't read, and somehow he at 20 is an appropriate random sample of the 8-13 year old population. BUT anyway...

I really have fun writing out first thoughts, but then I instantly become embarrassed of them. If I do manage a place on a library shelf or bookstore table, Anastasia TEASLEY would sit uncomfortably close to Mark TWAIN's books, and I feel he has somewhat of an unfair advantage. So I re-write and edit the ideas literally hundreds of times, which gets me no where fast, and I forget the once beyond brilliant story line I started with, because edit no. 78 was equally brilliant and has changed things beyond the original (now less than mediocre) plot line.

I have started this story about a girl and boy, or rather brother and sister (however dryly unoriginal that is), and the goal of the story is....not to sound like everyone else's story. I thought it had a pretty interesting plot, and even now I won't say what that is. Why not? I got the fortune cookie the night I planned on throwing the book in the trash, which said, "Don't be afraid to sell your ideas, people will buy them." Maybe that meant this novel really will get published.
OR, if anything, it could mean the inspiration on writing about why no one should write a first book. It would be an instant success. You know how many millions would be relieved if they didn't have that obligation? Especially with the rise in heart disease.

Professors have told me, if I must write books, an impossible unpromising trade, write about my own life. That would be formidable if I wasn't like every other child who grew up in a town which barely scored a 2.5 on the 10 point scale of interesting towns. Live through my characters. OH, is that why everyone writes fiction!?

Today is Obama's inauguration. I really have to take a serious second to reflect on our country, Europe, and a little on Istanbul. Having spent six once-in-a-lifetime November days in London, Brussels, and Paris following the election, Derek and I were caught with our hearts in our stomachs with the constant questions about Obama. I wish so hard that we had kept the count of how many times we were asked. In every country, small talk consisted of how great the change will be thanks to Obama. The world loves Obama. We voted for McCain. How awkward did we feel. Not so for not voting for Obama, but because so many cared about the move we made as a country...as if we did it for the rest of them. How closely we are watched. Oh, to be Istanbul. Why? Because I have no idea what is going on with Istanbul right now, and they probably like it that way. I am glad the world sees it as a race liberating thing. I heard on Clark Howard this morning that my generation wouldn't see it that way. Our generation, the young up-and-comers don't carry the baggage that those before us do. I guess, for me and for those my age, race has not been a topic of discussion as much as politics, but it is the topic for my professors. I commend them. The older generations I mean. What a breathtakingly beautiful moment it was for them this morning. After having traveled outside the country, my main line of thought is, "Please, please don't mess up. Any of us." In other words, I don't want us to be human with so many watching. But from those we've talked to, Obama is not human. He is superman.

Maybe he is.