Thinking back to my high school days (which is getting harder because it's been so long), I don't ever remember thinking, "when I grow up I want to be a writer". In fact, if I'm going to be truthful, I have to say my biggest dream was to be a mom. Yep, that was me. I was a loner. A member of the dreaded drama "freak" club and I didn't even fit in there. As a senior, I was voted most likely to be a professor at Harvard. Not because I was smart, but because no one (in the popular crowd, that is) knew who I was.
Here I am x number of years later (you didn't really think I'd tell you my age this early in our relationship, did you?) and I am finally doing what I never thought I would love... writing!
I'm not ashamed to say I wrote an entire novel (90,000 blah, blah words) before deciding I should get some help in the writing field.
I take a class now. Every Wednesday night I print several copies of my latest try at writing. Sometimes I get a 'good job', sometimes I get kicked out of class to rewrite something, and once or twice now I've even been applauded (beware of inflating head). Even on the bad nights, though, I feel I've learned something.
Last night I learned (what I hope will be my ah-ha moment) that I need to find my inner monologue.
Everyone has an inner monologue. What's yours saying right now?
I didn't realize until last night, but mine still exists, just not the way it used to. My head is so busy figuring out my kid's homework (not good at math), and deciding what's for dinner, and if I remembered to move the laundry around, and dates and times and chores and stopping fights and remembering I gave up chocolate (that's a whole n'other post) and what can I write that Mr. Picky-pants (I've changed the instructors name to protect the innocent...from him) will like, and so on and so on, that I've forgotten how to sit down and let my inner monologue do what it does best.
I have a muse on my shoulder telling me what I should write, how I should write and how wonderful my writing is when I listen to it. So I'm going to take a drastic step. Mr. Picky-pants, if you're reading this, it's all your fault... I'm going to kill the muse! Dead.
And I'm not going to feel guilty about it.
Bye, bye muse...Hello inner monologue.