When I first discovered that I had the writers bug, I was eleven years old and in sixth grade. I had just read Gone with the Wind and was so overcome by the emotion that Margaret Mitchell had provoked in me that I said to myself: I want to do that.
And I started.
And have never looked back.
I've written something almost every day since then.
Needless to say, I have tons of Rubbermaid containers full of spiral notebooks and tons of files on three laptops that I can't bring myself to get rid of (two of them have lost their powercords so I'm kinda screwed there).
I'm surrounded by the written word and it's my idea of heaven.
Since reading that last page of GWTW, I wanted nothing more than to be a published novelist. I loved creating characters and spending hours defining them. I loved that I could make them whoever I wanted them to be. I loved that I could create the perfect romance, complete with snarky angst and dreamy kisses.
Being a writer has made all my dream come true... in my head.
For years I wrote novels and would send out query letters then spend weeks waiting by my mailbox for replies.
Obviously, I've never gotten a yes or else you would hear it from me every day that I had a novel sitting on a shelf somewhere.
Sure, I've gotten published in the magazine arena and the world wide web has created a whole page of articles online in my writer's resume.
But I have yet to see my romance novel or my chick-lit ideas come to a blossom.
And I have to tell you the reason why is because I blog.
I put all of myself into this blog.
I pull out all my ideas and publish every thought I have here (and on twitter) and at the end of the day, my poor brain is exhausted.
At the end of the day, my creativity is used up on blog posts about how adorable my children are, how my boobs tend to leak and reviews on DVDs that are scattered all over my daughters' floor.
When I log off at the end of the day, the thought of picking up a pen and putting it to paper makes me a little insane.
And I hate that my blog sucks it all out of me, but at the same time I love my blog.
Goodness, do I love my blog.
I love my readers.
I love what I've accomplished here and on other websites.
I love being a blogger.
I'm proud to be a blogger (isn't there a shirt somewhere that says that?)
But I can't help that part of me that is yearning for a paperback with my name on the front.
And I'm hoping that in 2011 I can parlay my blog into something or I can introduce you to a bodice ripping hero that will make you want to come back to my blog again and again.
So while I believe my blog is a problem at times, I also know it's the solution at others.
She Had A Little Dreidel
8 hours ago