Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
But somewhere along the way. This drive to be published has dwindled into a vague sense of acceptance of the fact that I probably won't be birthing a book. Right now, though I have the starts of a dozen books and stories on my hard drive, a few of which are a mere 20K words from being finished first drafts, I have no desire to write those stories.
Maybe it's because my personal journey isn't where I thought it was. I have the title and an outline for an awesome book on step-parenting but that story has taken a road I hoped didn't exist. My story would not be the encouragement that I'd hoped it might be. Not at this point. At this point I'm just surviving and am hoping that the road that I hoped didn't exist is a short road.
So why did a suggested blog post about peace open a vein here? About blogging? Good question. Maybe if I circle around a bit and ramble, the thoughts will jell into something tangible.
Why do I review books? And movies?
I get free books. Offers come daily and sometimes people just send them to me. But here's the deal. Most of them don't change my life or complete me. Most of them are okay or even good. Some have valuable information for me to take and ponder. But it is a rare book that takes my breath away. I'm not in love with just the ability to write beautiful phrases or an exquisite scene that I can smell, taste and feel. Characters don't usually jump off the pages and grab me by the throat or heart. Most of what I read leaves me as it found me. Maybe with a tear in my eye or a chuckle still vibrating in my throat but the written thoughts and words don't pierce my heart. The same with a movie except that I don't get many free movies. Speaking of free. After I invest hours of my time into a free book, reading it, then write a review, well, lets just say this is not about the perks.
So why do I blog? Is it narcissistic? I love to see my words in "print?" Or am in love with my own opinions? Hmmm. I don't think it's narcissism. I can go weeks without updating my status on Twitter or Facebook. My life just isn't that interesting and I don't think others are waiting for something rich and fulfilling from my fingertips.
Not done yet....