Once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. (Or a world traveler)

I have been missing in action I know, I am sure people are checking my blog every day in anxious anticipaton of my next posting.

Work (yes I have a job) has been insanely busy but I love it. Ben and I finally found a house and move this weekend. That is the short version of what I've been up to. So, on to the good stuff...

I just started a new book, I'm on page 40 and every time I pick it up and read a few paragraphs I want to throw myself off a cliff but I can't stop reading it. I think the idea behind the story is great, but the book not so great. I love to read and can typically find good in any book, I couldn't figure out what I found so annoying but I've decided I hate the writer's voice. She's so annoying and self-centered, it's all about her. This should be okay since it is essentially her life that's the story but I still find her cloying.

It does have me thinking about a few things however.

First, that I once wanted to be a writer. This poorly written book has shown me that maybe those dreams weren't so far fetched. If Elizbeth Gilbert can write a best seller, so can I damnit.

Obviously, I never thought I would grow up to be a Project Assistant but I now realize that we all have our thing: organization is my thing. Give me an Excel spreadsheet or a checklist and I go to my happy place. Still, somewhere deep down I want to be a writer. As kids we all aspire to be rockstars or in my case a marine biologist (if you had asked me when I was 10), but I always knew in my heart that I wanted to be a writer. I used to go in my room and get all set up with a notebook and pens convinced I was going to write the next Pulitzer Prize winning novel. All I ended up with were a bunch of mostly empty notebooks with a few pages of melodramatic teenage drama. Those pages were usually written not because I was terribly angst ridden but because I couldn't think of anything to say so I would write in order to practice my penmanship. If I couldn't write a great story at least what I did write would look pretty. I have exquisite penmanship. (If I ever have to write a personal ad, I think that might be my heading).
SWF with excellent penmanship seeking SM who loves books, jeopardy, wine and appreciates a well crafted handwritten letter.

I still have this problem with words though, I've just never been a communicator. I have so many ideas (and opinions) but can't actually turn them into anything tangible. Such is life.

Second, it has me thinking about things I love. I am early in the book, (Eat, Pray, Love) and while I find the author to be a pretty mediocre writer I came upon a paragraph that I found strangely moving.

"Traveling is the great true love of my life. I have always felt...that to travel is worth any cost or sacrifice. I am loyal and constant in my love for travel, as I have not always been loyal and constant in my other loves. I feel about travel the way a happy new mother feels about her impossible, colicky, restless newborn baby-I just don't care what it puts me through. Because I adore it. Because it's mine. Because it looks exactly like me. It can barf all over me if it wants to-I just don't care."

There are two things in life that make me feel this way, travel (or the idea of traveling) and words. I love to read and to write as evidenced by the diatribe a few paragrahps up.

I love traveling or the idea of traveling, since I haven't done much of it. I do however plan to one day be independently wealthy and see the world. In the meantime I guess I will settle for an overseas trip every few years.