On Writing

Most of my friends know that I love writing. In fact, I always have. I still have stories that I wrote in early elementary school, bad handwriting and all. I took AP English in high school not because I knew it would help me in college but because I sincerely WANTED to. I love writing fiction, and I love writing research papers. It doesn't matter to me. When I went to college, I wanted to major in English. Instead, I tacked on the reliable, job-giving "Education" degree to the end of my wanted English degree. Don't get me wrong: I love what I do. Working with kids every day is special to me, and I absolutely love seeing them succeed. However, teaching is not my first passion.

Writing is my passion.

That said, I rarely have time to actually write what I want to write. Yes, I write every day for this blog, but 1) I am only still writing because it was a resolution to write every say of 2012, so I will continue this until December 31st because I am not a quitter. Otherwise, this thing would have been done for by March or April, and 2) Only a small handful of people actually read what I write on here, and I'm sure that what I write holds no significant value to them whatsoever.

I WILL continue blogging in 2013, but it will be on a different level. I will create a fresh start. A new name, URL, design, and purpose will be established. I have a goal in mind of posting twice a week. That's enough, right? It's manageable, and it will help me focus some of my time on other goals I have for 2013.

The point of this post was not to talk about this blog. Instead, I wanted to share how I feel about my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) novel that I wrote in entirety in November of 2010. I recently started editing it, and I was up to chapter three (of 17) as of this morning. I was craving more, so I headed to my favorite French café and edited three more chapters today, bringing me up to six. I feel accomplished, but more importantly, while rereading my own words, I thought to myself: "Wow, I actually wrote this? It seems like a real book." I even found myself tearing up in a couple different places. I can't believe I wrote something that even resembles a REAL novel. The thought both THRILLS me and TERRIFIES me. I was meant to write. I have always known that. I still don't know if I was meant to be a published writer, but the thought is more feasible after the thoughts I had today. I am confident. I am happy. I am a writer.