What you can expect:
The brutal truth of me, without all the sugary coating.
Here I am just me, UNCUT and UNEDITED.
I talk about my family, my divorce, and a lot about MAKEUP.
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Thursday, June 23, 2011

I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm still a writer... right?

I have this habit of considering myself a writer even when I don't write. It's as much my identity as is my brown eyes or the fact that I am my kids' mother. I don't legally have a middle name, but if I did it would have something to do with the fact that my hand is permanently attached to a pen.

Only, lately that pen has only been writing in a journal with a sparkly picture of Audrey Hepburn on the front, recording the day-to-day stuff. I did, in fact, put together a short story for the blog this month, which I haven't accomplished since March, but that hardly counts as keeping up with something I plan on making a career out of.

Today, as I finished reading a chapter in Catching Fire (book 2, the Hunger Games series), I suddenly needed to write. I sat down and penned out the final page of what will be my [hopefully publishable] manuscript. I have been searching for the end of the story for almost a year now, and haven't come up with a single word to contribute to it in months. As any writer can tell you, when it rains, it pours. I wrote as fast as my hand would move, never needing to pause on a word or thought, until there were several pages before me, ready to be inserted as the conclusion of my novel.

This has been a particularly difficult story to tell, as it relates so closely to my own life experience. I think I've been stuck in limbo with the construction of the book because I have not been ready - emotionally - to experience it again. I doubt it will be a fun process filling in the holes between the parts I actually have managed to put on paper, but I feel like I'm finally ready to do it. It's not a commitment to accomplish something, but an actual readiness to let the emotions flow. It's time to let it out and release it, come what may.

I can't tell you how high I'm flying right now. I was born to write... the days I spend not doing so are dark, difficult days. Hello again, Cloud 9... better get comfortable with me, because I'm not leaving until the final word is typed and printed. 


  1. The title of your post reminds me of a story my mother used to read to me at bedtime when I was Asher's age and it reminds me of an old adage that is filled with truth.

    The story was The Little Engine That Could. The littlest engine had a job to do; it had to pull all the cars over the mountain top but it was afraid that it couldn't do it. But it went to work and kept saying to itself "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" . . . until it did what it wasn't sure it could do at first. It accomplished what, at first seemed impossible, because it kept working and kept assuring itself that it could do it.

    The old adage is this: "Whether or not you think you can or you can't . . . you're right."

    I think you can do it, you just have to keep working and saying to yourself, "I think I can, I think I can . . ."


  2. Probably my favorite comment ever. And such a good reminder... ah, the lessons we learn when we're children.


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