The inner workings of a troubled mind.

Resolutions

Last year around this time, I resolved to write everyday. I decided to finally write down the stories that were in my head since I was a little girl. Don't ask me why I never thought of this before. I don't have an answer for you. I think and this is pushing it, I needed someone to tell me it was okay to do it. I never thought of myself as a writer, only as a story teller. There used to be a difference if you look at it in the literal way that I did. I thought I was only allowed to speak my story to whomever would listen. When I mentioned once to my mother that I was thinking of writing a novel, she scoffed and laughed at me. I didn't take it to heart since she is the same person who laughed at me when I told her I was going to college or renew my wedding vows. She is an extremely narrow minded woman who lives in a tiny box and everything outside of her safe haven terrifies her or simply cannot be true. But I swear that woman can cook. I truly believe I was adopted. Anyway, I am not going to bore you with my mommy issues. The point I am trying to get at is, after years of hearing you can't do this or that, I thought I needed permission to write.

One day, while shopping at Target with my daughter, I picked up a cute notebook. I thought I would try writing in it and see what happened. A month later, I went back and picked up another one. Every day after that I would park my truck in front of my daughters school a half hour early, pull out my notebook and write until the last second. My goal was to get the story out. I didn't worry about anything else. I knew I could fix later. I relished those thirty minutes with my notebook, and soon it became ratty and worn but held strong. I wrote every chance I could and lost many hours of sleep. I carried my notebook in my over sized purse and had it on hand whenever I needed to jot something down.  It didn't take long for my family to catch on to me and to my surprise was overwhelmed with support from my father. Growing up in a large household, my father worked long hours seven days a week, so I barely seen him or developed a good relationship with him. I always had great respect for him. He was a hard worker and my definition of a real man. So when I saw the proud look in his eyes, I resolved to continue writing. I committed to writing everyday, even if it was a little paragraph.

Once I wrote a single sentence. That sentence remained hidden in my trusty notebook for months on end, until one day, I came across it at a glance. It triggered a story and that story is turning out to be bigger than I expected. I write down my dreams as well, because I dream in stories. My characters haunt me in my sleep. If I don't write them down they keep returning until I break down and give them life. Immortality on the page.  I am smiling now, thinking of the good deeds I have done for my characters who only ask that I tell their story. So everyday I write, whether or not it is good. ( I am never satisfied with my writing, I always strive to do better.) I have stuck with my goal to write everyday and I have become a better writer for it.