Sunday, June 19, 2011

On the Ink...a writer's journey

I have spent a great deal of my life thinking "I want to be a writer!"  I have contemplated pen names and copyrights and fame.  After all, when one is dreaming, why not dream big?  And I have spent some time writing.  I have entered quirky contests and picked at novels.  I have plucked poetry from the wrinkled folds of my brain, little tidbits of memory melded to imagination and a hope that springs eternal (if cliches are permitted).

I have even tried my hand at a blog, worrying between words whether something I said would flag the attention of a friend or a family member, whether the writer-friend who has ceased writing will see censure in my own black-and-white frustrations, whether the father who told me to dream big might assure me it's okay to scale back, whether the potential boyfriend might ask when/where I will publish.  I worried too much and all the time.  It is my nature.

For the past few years I have felt myself on the brink. Depending on the person who asks and my mood of the moment, I might say it's the brink of success.  But, here, in the anonymity of the blogosphere, I'll admit the better word is failure.

I want to write.  I have stacks on stacks of pages I have written, but the dust has long since settled on the top-most page and I have more edits to do than I can comprehend doing.  I pick at poetry and applaud every sentence I eke out.  But the truth is...I am not writing like I should.

And I thought this blog, this new blog, absent any ties to my real name or prior endeavors, absent judgment from friends old and new, will allow me a public reckoning with myself.

The document my progress, my frustrations, my and thus find a way to be honest with myself.