White, blank page.

May 21, 2014

I'm sitting here, on my bed, staring at this white, blank page in front of me, trying to figure out the words to type out.  I know that in order to be a successful writer, one must...write.  Sometimes writing is just the easiest part of my day, words flowing out of my fingers like nobody's business, like my fingers were created to type.  But sometimes the words run away and hide from me, deep down in the crevices of my brain.  I know they are there but bringing them to the surface can be difficult.

So I guess I'll just write about writing.  I am trying to blog more, again.  Knowing that I need to practice this skill and actually practicing are two different acts.  I am attempting to encourage (read: force) myself to write at least two blogs a week.  At least two blogs a week just on my personal blog alone; not including writing I'll be doing for Shattered's blog among other things.  Oh and this doesn't include, you know, trying to write a book.  So basically there's going to be a lot of typing going on up in here.

To date I have written approximately (read: exactly) 5,817 words for my book.  That's enough right?  It's coming along slowly, but sweetly and surely.  Maybe by 2050 I'll have them all written out.  It's such a delicate balance writing a book that you would actually like people to read.  Figuring out a way to delicately interlace straight forward facts and all the emotions and thoughts and feels in a way that shows grace, love and sincerity is kind of a ridiculous idea if you really think about it.  But I'm determined (read: stubborn) and I'm going to make it happen.  I recently found out that I FINALLY got into graduate school...for next year.  I will start Summer 2015.  I am choosing to see the silver linings in having to wait another entire year and one of them is to finish this dang book.  I work well with due dates and deadlines.

I shall now leave you with a gift.  A gift of a picture of my dog contemplating the world's problems.  Like maybe why there are not enough tennis balls on this planet.  Or why he can't seem to physically catch the reflection from his collar tags.  Or why our cat hates him so much. 

You're welcome.