How Writers Write (Maybe?)

I had a discussion the other day with a friend about how it must be hard to live with someone who writes novels for a living. The more I thought about it, the more I felt sorry for my husband. My friend thought it would be tough living with a writer because she imagined that it would be difficult for that writer to transition from the world that he or she creates in his or her books to the real, "normal" world. I pondered that thought for a moment and realized that I have never lived in the real world. EVER. Logical is not my strong point. Now, I may just be crazy, but I have a hunch that many other writers and creative people have this same problem.

I have words and stories inside of me ALWAYS. I remember even when I was a small child, I would tell myself stories to keep my brain occupied (I get bored very easily). For years, I would tell myself these stories out loud. I'll never forget my older sister warning me that I when I started school, I would have to stop talking to myself because people would think I was weird.

But really, I will always be "weird". Most people don't have characters popping up in their heads having conversations with other characters. But I always have. I know that sounds a bit like schizophrenia, but I never talk back to them, if that counts.

These days, I stick to telling myself stories strictly inside my head or on paper. Hopefully one day, other people will want to read them too. If so, maybe I won't feel quite as weird. And if no one likes the worlds I fathom, that's okay with me. I have to entertain myself somehow.

But my synapses are constantly firing, creating new characters and plots and scenes. And if I let all of these jumble up in my brain, I can't sleep or perform logical, everyday matters. But as soon as I write them down, it's like they leave me forever. Then of course, I immediately (and unintentionally) start thinking of new characters and plots and scenes, creating a circle of inevitable doom.

My point is, the creative process never ends. It starts with a simple idea, and then grows and branches into something bigger. Only you have the power to control those thoughts, so get out your lasso and tame those babies. Because isn't it the coolest thing EVER to know that YOU have the ability to create a person, or a world, or whatever the heck you want, into something that never existed before YOU thought of it? I might be biased, but I sure think so. Living with a writer is probably like living in multiple worlds with multiple people, but isn't that all the fun of loving and living with a writer in the first place? It never gets boring. I promise. Just ask my husband.

Decisions, Decisions

I have now been college for six years.  Yep.  That's right.  SIX YEARS.  Most people that have been in college that long can say that they hold a bachelor's degree, or are in med school, or are almost finished with their master's degree.  I can't. None of those things are true about me. But I have a reason, if you could call it that: I WANT TO BE A WRITER. Not a veterinarian, or a teacher, or a physical therapist, or a speech pathologist, or a teacher (did i mention that one already?), all of which I have majored in at some point in my college career.  I want to be a full blown, accredited with a bachelor's degree in creative writing, WRITER. 

 "Now, why haven't you done this if it's what you want to do?" you may ask.  One reason, and one reason only: other people's opinions.  Every time I would timidly say to some one, "I want to be a writer," they would look at me with disdain in their eyes. "Oh Stefanie," they would say, "Don't you know that isn't a sensible job? Sure you can be a writer, but you need a REAL career too."  So I would just lower my eyes in shame for even thinking I could do such a thing like follow my dreams.  Sure I would be a writer one day.  I'm writing a novel, aren't I?  

But in the meantime, I had to go to college to get a degree for a REAL career.  But as the days ticked by, I began to become antsy.  The thought "this isn't what I want to do in life" raced through my head on a daily basis.  So I would pick up my school books and head on to the next temporary fad of a college major, all the while trying to convince myself that THAT was what I really wanted to do for the rest of my life.  I told myself over and over that adults hold REAL jobs.  Writing was for fun only, and if it turned out in my favor one day, that would be wonderful.  

But all this "self-convincing" that I was doing was only leading me down a dangerous path.  I spent three days in a row crying myself to sleep because I was so unhappy; and I had NO clue why.  I have a wonderfully sweet husband (really, I do. Couldn't ask for a better one) and kick-ass family that I love to be around as much as possible.  I am blessed in so many ways, I just couldn't understand why I wasn't HAPPY.  

Then one day I realized that the only thing that made me happy and let me dissolve the sadness that I couldn't escape anywhere else, was when I sat down at my computer and worked on my novel.  WRITING.  That was the simple trick all along.  At that moment of realization, a tiny voice said, "Hey.  If this is what makes you happy, WHY aren't you doing it everyday?"  That voice eventually got louder and louder until it was practically screaming at me at all times.  So you know what, world?  I am going to make myself happy.  I am changing my major to (drumroll please.........) English with a Concentration in Creative Writing.  And that is that.  I may or may not one day hold in my hands a shiny book with my name printed under the title, but if I never take the chance and actually TRY, how will I know?