Tonight I stumbled upon something inspiring.
Actually, no. Before I get to that, I must mention that I began my day with something remarkably inspiring sent from one of my best friends in all the world (Jessica-Freaking-P!). I awoke to my iPhone “blowing up” with text messages at 6am thinking, “Who has the nerve to text me this early? My kids are still sleeping… and I am, too!” Then I saw it was from Jessy, and it was a photo of a book page. I glanced at it, waited for the texting to stop and then tried to return to slumber (ended up just getting up for coffee and having a moment to myself). When I had all my faculties about me, I went back and read the photographed page. On it, the topic of developing one’s God-given gifts was discussed. I have long thought that we have a spiritual imperative to develop and cultivate these gifts and not to squander them. I cannot be positive that writing is my “gift,” but since there is little else I am particularly adept at, this is the best I am able to offer.
I have been speaking to a few of the people closest to me about my desire to write and be published someday. Published where? How? I do not have these answers at the moment, but I will find them. Of all of my life’s dreams, the most consistent and present ALWAYS revolve, in some way, around being a writer. I cannot say I’m all that creative, but there has to be some story in me, something I can create that is worth putting down on paper for others to read.
I mean, here I am: a military wife, a currently career-less grad student, and — at least for the moment — stay-at-home mom to our two beautiful boys. I make calls, read about autism, fill out paperwork, and drive to appointments to help us all learn how to wrangle some of Weston’s more challenging behaviors and help us grapple with all that this autism will bring for him and the rest of our family. I cook, I clean, I pack and I unpack. Yet, even with all of that, I’m not exactly doing all of the work I feel I have been put here on Earth to do. Taking time off from finishing my graduate degree, though certainly necessary, is not exactly helping matters. I need to write. And so here I sit at this long wooden table in Starbucks at 7:45 on a rainy Arkansas evening writing about… writing.
Back to that I was saying at the beginning. Today, I stumbled upon an old writer’s journal I utilized circa 2002. As I skimmed the pages, I came across some sort of creative writing experiment. The idea of this journal is to encourage people to put pen to paper and keep writing even, and especially, when we think we have nothing to say. In an effort to do this, I began by literally writing my thoughts which were disorganized and quite chaotic at best (I was twenty years old, I mean, I wasn’t exactly a pearl of wisdom). Somewhere along the line, however, I had an original thought! I cannot be sure where I was going with it, but for pages I wrote what looked like the prologue to a work of fiction I must have dreamed up. It is not exactly a great lost work of prose, but may serve well as a starting point. Since I do not have another original thought with which to begin my attempt to become a “writer,” I am going to expand on this story and see where I land. It may amount to nothing more than a creative experiment. I may look back on it years from now when I have finally been published and say, “What was I thinking? This is crap!” But until that time comes, I have to start somewhere.
So away we go!