Thanks to Michelle Rafter, the host of this year's BLOGATHON challenge, and her assistant Jan Udlock at imperfect mom for providing this write every day! writing forum. I would also like to thank Jason Lancaster at spork marketing for gifting me the GRAND prize, a Kindle Fire!
Writing has never been my thing, the thing one thinks of as a passion, a lifeline, something one needs to do to feel whole. I have always loved the written word, yet I never considered myself as a writer.
I remember a preparing me for a career as a teacher course in college where at some point we were required to write a story, any story, illustrate it, and somehow have it bound; then turned in as a final project. Somewhere in this house, in a stashed away box, I still have that trying to be witty story of a young girl waiting in line for the bathroom, in her family home; in line behind nine brothers and a sister. You would think writing that somewhat exaggerated tale would be easy to produce, considering I was writing about myself. But it wasn't. I had no clue how to make it interesting. No clues at all. I think of that story often, now that I have delved into the blogging world, writing my personal stories. Stories that just seem to flow from my mind to my fingertips; and watching those thoughts come alive, just the way I am feeling them.
Years have passed since that book project was turned in, and the only writing I had done since was scribbling my thoughts into a personal journal. Yet, when the day approached for Rudy to leave the comfort of his home here in California, to move to Arkansas, to take a job out of necessity, I began to write, about us. At first, like with my class-required-book-project, I didn't know how to put my feeling and thoughts down without sounding mundane.
And then, one day, while visiting Rudy last summer, I began to see our life as a story rather than a scheduled list of our days. Thus, my stories began to flow. My true, heartfelt, full-of-feeling stories that fill up my thoughts regularly.
So, when I took on the BLOGATHON challenge, I knew I could write every day, that something would spark a story. Something from long ago, something I think might happen, or something that happened just that minute. For me, ideas to write are always on the edge of my mind, waiting for their turn.
One of my recent posts, mosquito sex, is an example of sitting at the computer, late in the evening, after a long day at work, thinking about which tale to write. I was quietly contemplating, when my oldest son, Roberto, walked into the room and began talking to me about his day. He suddenly stopped talking, exclaiming, "What is that?" pointing to some shadowed lines, high on the wall. I left my seat to investigate, claiming it was just a mosquito. "Ew," he said. Upon closer observation, I realized it was actually two mosquitoes in the thralls of bug-making. "Ew! Ew! Ew!" he said, grossed out. I asked Roberto to climb up onto a chair, and carefully remove them to the outside world. "Really? Ew!" In the end, I found a cup and a sturdy piece of paper and carried those never did stop doing the deed as I plucked them off the wall mosquitoes outside. I then returned to my seat in front of the computer screen, and my poem was born.
After never thinking about it, never honing in on it, never truly attempting it, I now realize I am a writer. It just was never my time, until now. The BLOGATHON confirmed to myself that I am capable of producing something. Something interesting. Something that flows from my heartstrings onto cyber paper, for all those that are interested to read.
Writing has never been my thing, the thing one thinks of as a passion, a lifeline, something one needs to do to feel whole. I have always loved the written word, yet I never considered myself as a writer.
I remember a preparing me for a career as a teacher course in college where at some point we were required to write a story, any story, illustrate it, and somehow have it bound; then turned in as a final project. Somewhere in this house, in a stashed away box, I still have that trying to be witty story of a young girl waiting in line for the bathroom, in her family home; in line behind nine brothers and a sister. You would think writing that somewhat exaggerated tale would be easy to produce, considering I was writing about myself. But it wasn't. I had no clue how to make it interesting. No clues at all. I think of that story often, now that I have delved into the blogging world, writing my personal stories. Stories that just seem to flow from my mind to my fingertips; and watching those thoughts come alive, just the way I am feeling them.
Years have passed since that book project was turned in, and the only writing I had done since was scribbling my thoughts into a personal journal. Yet, when the day approached for Rudy to leave the comfort of his home here in California, to move to Arkansas, to take a job out of necessity, I began to write, about us. At first, like with my class-required-book-project, I didn't know how to put my feeling and thoughts down without sounding mundane.
And then, one day, while visiting Rudy last summer, I began to see our life as a story rather than a scheduled list of our days. Thus, my stories began to flow. My true, heartfelt, full-of-feeling stories that fill up my thoughts regularly.
So, when I took on the BLOGATHON challenge, I knew I could write every day, that something would spark a story. Something from long ago, something I think might happen, or something that happened just that minute. For me, ideas to write are always on the edge of my mind, waiting for their turn.
One of my recent posts, mosquito sex, is an example of sitting at the computer, late in the evening, after a long day at work, thinking about which tale to write. I was quietly contemplating, when my oldest son, Roberto, walked into the room and began talking to me about his day. He suddenly stopped talking, exclaiming, "What is that?" pointing to some shadowed lines, high on the wall. I left my seat to investigate, claiming it was just a mosquito. "Ew," he said. Upon closer observation, I realized it was actually two mosquitoes in the thralls of bug-making. "Ew! Ew! Ew!" he said, grossed out. I asked Roberto to climb up onto a chair, and carefully remove them to the outside world. "Really? Ew!" In the end, I found a cup and a sturdy piece of paper and carried those never did stop doing the deed as I plucked them off the wall mosquitoes outside. I then returned to my seat in front of the computer screen, and my poem was born.
After never thinking about it, never honing in on it, never truly attempting it, I now realize I am a writer. It just was never my time, until now. The BLOGATHON confirmed to myself that I am capable of producing something. Something interesting. Something that flows from my heartstrings onto cyber paper, for all those that are interested to read.
That's a feast scene right there, when you're both looking at and talking about the mosquito. Link up with my workshop and you might find you discover actual characters here to pursue fictionally. Or fictionally finessed?:) nice post.
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