Where’s my pool boy the book

Many people who have read this blog (I seriously don’t know why you read my insanity) have suggested that I write a book. At first I laughed really hard. Kind of like the laughing I do when somebody tells a really good that’s what she said joke. But here’s the truth: I actually am writing a book. It is taking me forever but I am writing. In the quiet moments in my life which roughly equal 2 minutes per month I am sitting down to this chromebook that only sometimes works and writing. But I don’t think I’m writing what you think I’m writing. I’m not writing a book based on a compilation of my blog posts because my blog posts are kind of my therapy and nobody wants to read an entire book of my therapy sessions including me. I much prefer writing fiction that dabbles in a tiny bit of truthy truths.

You see I’ve always written. As long as I can remember I have sat down to sheets of paper, a typewriter, a word processor and eventually a computer to write. It is soothing to me seeing words come out of brain and land on paper in such a way that they make any kind of reasonable sense. I love metaphors and analogies and alliteration and certain word combinations that go together like ramalamalamadadingidydingydong. English was the one subject in school where I felt competent or actually slightly more than competent. It was not a surprise to me that I became an English major in college. I devoured books and loved spitting out words about them on paper. I took creative writing courses and felt like every time I wrote a story I was giving birth. I know now that the creative writing process was much more pleasant. And I wanted to write as a career. First I wanted to be a lawyer and write depositions and briefs until my dad told me I would hate it because I’m a “people person”. Then I wanted to be an English professor and write on the side until my dad told me I’d be broke and paying off student loans the rest of my life. So alas I put such childish things away and became the OT that I am today. And I really do love my career but I also really miss reading and analyzing and writing. I miss it so much that I decided that I wanted to get back to it and do the thing that brought so much peace and joy when I was younger. Now that I’m in the middle part of my life it’s almost like a rebirth for me; a chance to do some of the things I put away in the midst of marriage and work and home and kids. Now that my kids are approaching adulthood and independent in a lot of ways I have to take a cold, hard look at myself and start thinking about the things that will not only sustain me but nourish me in the next half of my life.

So I’m writing a book and it is a work of fiction. It is a coming of age story set in the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic world. It is a story of finding out things about oneself through loneliness, encounters with others, adversity, and challenges. I am enjoying writing it although I need some help getting myself back to it after I take a break for a bit so definitely get on my middle aged ass about it. I have no hopes that it will be good or readable or anything; I just have hopes that I will once again enjoy the process of creating. I also have hopes that all the ice cream I’ve been eating lately will magically disappear from my body so there’s that. Anyway, thanks to all who read this and who have mentioned writing to me. You’ve definitely given me the drive to do it more often.


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