At the age of six, as my fingers first found how to shape the alphabet, I decided to become a person of letters…I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days. I have forgotten the meaning of twenty or thirty of my poems written thirty or forty years ago…I should like to think that as I go on writing there will be sentences truly alive, with verbs quivering, with nouns giving color and echoes. It could be, in the grace of God, I shall live to be eighty-nine, as did Hokusai, and speaking my farewell to earthly scenes, I might paraphrase: “If God had let me live five years longer I should have been a writer.” –Carl Sandburg
The other day Nikki mentioned in a post how she wants to write a novel, and it got me thinking about writing. I always wrote, and always wanted to be a writer. And I still do, I think..
I think I want to be the Laura Ingalls Wilder or Maud Hart Lovelace or Louisa May Alcott or L.M. Montgomery of my generation–you know, write that enduring semi-autobiographical series of books that just lives on. Ha. You can’t say I don’t dream big.
But. For a while that love of writing went away. It was so easy for one teacher’s careless words to completely crush me. As an almost-teacher myself, I am constantly vigilant to not hurt my own students in the same way.
I have written a little bit in the last year. Last year, I started doing nanowrimo, and ended up with a few pages of short story. And more recently, I’ve finished up a short-ish story reimagining my life and putting my friends at our 10 year high school reunion. Whitney’s read it. I’m pretty enchanted with it. I kind of want to share it, but at the same time, there are people who I don’t want to read it..Nobody that reads this blog, but other people we know..Still, it’s fun, and pretty funny, to me at least..I read it when I want to laugh, because I always laugh. Especially when Jamie Dickens opens his big mouth. Oh man.
So. On writing the great American novel. Or the great American children’s book series. I just keep telling myself that there’s plenty of time. I am only 21 years old; I do not have to write an amazing book or story or poem or anything in the next two years. I have the rest of my life. And I think it’s better that way..It takes the pressure off, to remind myself of that. What about all of you other future writers? What do you think about all this?