Inspiration

I know, I know. I promised I'd talk about the wedding and having my new family here and leading the British around. And I know I was going to talk about life after the fire, and everything thats been going on.. But its.. Its just not what I want to talk about. so HA.

Tonight I watched Julie and Julia. For those of you not familar with the book/movie it's about a woman who wanted to be a writer, gave up half way through and started working in a call center after 9/11. She wanted something more out of life and started blogging. 365 days for all the recipes in Julia Child's cook book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Well she did it, but as I'm watching I'm thinking "I have a brand new cook book. I love writing."
John and I joked when we opened the cook book that we'd cook a recipe each day, trying it out. And that it'd take me over 2 years to finish. And it would, there are about 700 recipes in it. But I figure, why not?

Why not combine the two things I love more than tulle, tiaras and Facebook? Cooking and writing. Add in some picture taking, maybe a video here and there.. and I could actually have the cooking blog I've thought about making for over a year now.

I'll have nothing but free time when I get to England, and plenty of people I can feed if I invite them over. I don't see the problem, and since the wedding, I'm actually super excited about something.

So stay tuned, because soon I'm going to have another blog, and hopefully I'll update it far more than I've been updating this one.

And because you've been so patient I'll throw in a picture of the Groom and I dancing to our first dance.

You're very Welcome.

Writing

I want to write something, but everything I write turns out like crap.

She paced the floor, unwilling to accept the news she had just received. "Not happening." She muttered over and over as he stood in the hallway staring at her, "It's for the best you know that." He said softly. She turned and looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
"What the fuck do you mean, it's for the best?" she demanded. She had finally stopped pacing and now stood with her hands on her hips. "You wouldn't fucking know what is for the best." she threw up her hands and resumed pacing. "For the best my ass." She started muttering again.

He sighed and pushed off from the wall he had been leaning on, "Have it your way." He told her over his shoulder before entering the room they shared and closing the door behind him. He looked at his suitcase, half packed. He was leaving, he finally told her that he wasn't happy. He told her that he was sick of her drama and the fights she'd throw just because she could. He sat down on the bed, the weight causing the springs in the mattress to squeak and groan under him. He bent over and picked up a roll of socks and tossed them in along side his jeans and shirts.
He paused when he heard something slam against the wall and then shatter as it hit the floor. And in that second he knew he was making the best choice.

I can't create things in my mind like I used to be able to, and it's distressing. I've stopped playing mafia because the same shit happens over and over again. No matter what I write, it's the same crap I've spewed out before.

I need to get my ass in a writing class where people will push me to write, suggest changes and things to make my writing better. Because lord knows the shit I'm working with now isn't worth reading.

Writing out of boredom

Everytime I read a book I have this urge to write. I finish the book and have a few moments of "Wonderful!" or "Dreadful." or "Blech at that ending." and it's never the same with books as it is for movies, but reading a book takes so much more time.

After my moment of book review to myself, I sit or lay wondering why I haven't bothered to write one. Perhaps it's because I can't put myself out there. I think it's more to do with the fact that a giant "Ah ha!" Idea has yet to hit me, and the ones that do never quite make it further than the first few paragraphs.

Short stories have always been easier for me, because somewhere along the pages of a long story I lose interest. And if I, the writer, can't remain interested then who else is going to? I wouldn't ask anyone to read something even I couldn't finish.

It's been a while since I've written anything fictional. But to fill that absence I have blogged more here, which is a bonus for you. I promise. I want to be creative, I want to write. I want someone to read what I write and have a moment of contemplation, and then perhaps I in turn can inspire them.

Ok, time to talk.

I'm jealous. I read blogs day in and day out, thanks to stumble. I manage to find some I like and bookmark them, checking weekly, some even daily. I see people like EvilBeet make a living off blogging and thrive at it and I get jealous.
I want to write and get paid for it! I want people to hang on my every word and wonder what I'm going to say next. It happens at walmart, but thats only because in a 7 hour day of cashiering I'm pretty much the funniest thing there next to the guy buying the Enema and baby oil.

I need to get back into the habit of writing. I need to start writing constantly, even if I don't feel like it or my idea isn't that good. I'm debating opening another blog just for short stories or writing little tidbits. I normally got my writing out by Mafia.org but now I can't be bothered because the game sucks so bad and the same thing happens time after time.

I wish someone would just knock on my door and tell me I'm brilliant and that they want to publish me. (I wrote punish first, what does that say about my brain?) Frankly, I just want the easy way out. I'm all for writing and writing and writing, it makes me happy. But I'm not ok with the whole "Your writing needs to improve." bit of it. I don't like judgment, not on things that come from my heart.

So my new years Resolution, although a bit late, is to start writing again. Not just writing, but spilling every damn thought that is in my head. Making sure that nothing remains locked inside of me, regardless of how painful it could be to have someone tell me they don't like it.

And the other resolution is to find a fucking writing class online and sign up. I need stimulation, and I need to get back into the swing of things. Because blogging is wonderful, but I'm never going to get a book deal off the shit I Put here.

Numbers Ain't Got Nuttin' On Me!

I'm in a much better mood than I have been in days. I had a breakdown the other night, crying and being upset about anything and everything that I could. And at the end of it all the weight was off my shoulders and I could smile again with out having to force it.

Currently, I'm on a high. Not a drug high, but one of pride and happiness. I have taken the same math class four times while in College. Each time I decided I was too good and stopped going. Well this time around, I've not missed a single class and my test grades have so far been 99%, 94% and 99%. Which gives me an average of about 95-97%

I will be getting out of this math class with an A.

I can not stop smiling over this, and it thrills me to bits.


In other news, come Monday my English class will be reading my memoir I wrote years ago about the day I was told my mom had AIDS. I'm scared shitless. I do not like people reading my writing, and more importantly I do not like people flat out telling me what they think of my paper with out me being able to respond. (Oh yes, I can not speak during this.)
I have a feeling I'll be hitting someone with my car on "Accident" when this class is over.

tomorrow is Day one of Softball tournament #2 and I'm excited to have something to do.
I want to get a job, but it's the summer. Can't I have fun instead? *whines*

I'll try to post sometime over the weekend, but don't expect me to be around much.