Oh yea! I have and always will be a writer. I have a passion for the written word, as is evident in my passion for the subject I teach, English Literature. Every day I give students advice on how to improve their own writing through various forms of feedback and exercise, but in the recent past I have ignored my own need to write for myself, and not just for them. I used to want to write the classic novel. Then I wanted to write a teen self-help book (we all go through that whiney, teenage angst phase), and then children books about hippos and pigs being friends to improve their self images. (I had a wild imagination, and I love pigs!) Now I just want to let it all lose. I think that this will be a good form of therapy for me, and then my boyfriend of 4.5 years will stop making me call my mother during an emotional outburst. I don't even care if NO ONE reads it.
I guess my other inspiration was my journals from when I was younger. Upon searching fervently for my old copy of Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer, before his book signing on Saturday night, I found some old writings, mostly written when venting about exes or just experiencing something new in life. These were corny, cheesy, pointless. Not that my writing is here to "change the world" but in my maturity (if that really ever does happen) I've seen the ill in my ridiculous ideals of the past. I was seriously going to MARRY someone who wouldn't call me back for a month at a time?!? If I knew what I knew then...
Ooh, great topic for the next installment.
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