Dude. Did you see how much  Barack Obama made off his books last year? I am so going to write a book.



I am.

It’s something I’ve wanted to do since high school, but the problem is figuring out what to write about. I’d love to do one of those eye candy craft books with pretty pictures and projects that SEEM simple until you try to do them, but I seriously doubt I could come up with enough original projects. Much less projects with some sort of theme (all knitted, felted, or sewing).

I’ve also been toying with writing a “memoirs”. I’m not sure my life is all that interesting though. It’s not like I’m Augusten Burroughs who grew up in a family so dysfunctional that it makes my family look more wholesome than the Cleavers. (BTW, I just noticed that the “Cleavers” sounds like a family of homicidal butchers.)

Then, there is the whole fiction angle. Friends and I used to write these really elaborate, but completely unrealistic chain stories. We even had one online for a while. I’ll have to contact Jen and see if she still has the dumb thing. It was hilarious. Or maybe not. Maybe you had to know all the people we were writing about. But I digress… I can’t even seem to come up with a character to write about, much less an entire BOOK.

A few people have advised me to just start writing, and I know they are right. But I can’t even make myself blog more than once per week. Well honestly, if I was doing something other than making a mad dash for the finish line on the quilt in progress, I might actually write more. Only  48 more squares to go… (that’s just over half.)

One of my friends suggested starting with the blog entries themselves. Is that even a good idea? Do people want to RE READ what I’ve already written?

I do love to write when I have something to say. On a few occasions I’ve even written some things that make a tiny difference in the world. The one that comes to mind most readily is when I wrote a long elaborate letter to the HR department and building supervisor of ERCOT to investigate having a Mother’s room in the new addition to the office space. At the time, I was still nursing Alexis, and pumping at work was hell because there was no definitive room to use. I got shuffled around at least 3-4 times in about 10 months. I got compliments from people I didn’t even know on that letter, and a year later, long after I’d left the company, a friend of mine emailed me to let me know that they had indeed decided to include the Mother’s room in the new building.

The biggest problem with my current job is that it doesn’t make a difference. I just want to make a TINY difference in the world – or even one person’s life. Is that too much to ask? Can I make that difference by creating an eye candy book? or writing a funny story? or telling people about all my health problems? I don’t know. But maybe that first book could lead to something more important. Or maybe it could just provide relief from daily misery.

Well, I’m about to become much busier with blogging. I’ve been accepted to blog over at the needle, a website for plushie artists. Not that I consider my cute elephants “art”, but they are sweet and so many people seem to love them too.

I am also going to join a group of people doing The Artist’s Way together. This is a 12 week program (That’s WEEK not STEP) that is supposed to teach you to unlock your creative potential. Maybe it will help with the Writer’s block. Thanks Karen!

So here I am as usual, taking on more than I probably should. You wouldn’t expect anything less, would you?

If you’re wondering why my blog entries have suddenly become few and far between, (and I know there only about 6 of you out there who even care) I’ve got it. Writer’s block. Oh sure, I’ve thought about writing about many different things: the socks I just finished (again), the baby shower gifts I’m making, the new painting that has sat untouched on the easel (that I got for Christmas!) for at least 3 weeks, the ideas to start illustrating some of my dad’s stories to surprise him, even the internal battle that is going on concerning my martial arts training, but for some reason I just can’t make myself write about them.

Hell, it’s not like there isn’t plenty to talk about with the Presidential race and the failing economy, but if I can’t talk about it with friends, I am surely not going to share my opinions to the world. Politics, money and religion are off the table for sure.

I guess, for me, it’s really important that a blog be visually appealing as well as entertaining to read. I can’t tell you how many blogs I have stumbled right past because the picture at the top (or lack thereof), or the layout are unappealing. Often I don’t even read the title of the first post. As shallow as that seems, I know I’m not the only one. And as I watch my blog stats see saw with occasional days of a gillion and one hits from StumbleUpon users, I wonder how many of them are doing just what I do. I’d love to get stats on how many people actually stay and read for a while.

The point is, that I feel sort of like I NEED a picture in every post. And while some of the most frequently visited entries are imageless, I still can’t shake the notion that it has to be there. And lately, my picture taking skills are at an all time low. I’ve got at least 5 items to list on Etsy that always come out blurry in photos. And there is yet another topic. The tremor and the other permanent side effects of having Guillian-Barre. And how about the depression that arises from those symptoms?

This past weekend as I was very carefully trying to piece together quilt pieces so that they all had very neat 1/4 inch seams, I started to realize that if my hands being shakey isn’t bad enough, my machine tends to take my fabric and twist it counter-clockwise, so that guiding it through the feed dogs/foot is more of a tug-of-war match than sewing. So now I have the added burden of researching and finding a new sewing machine. Not that I really NEED one, but I think it’s probably time to move on from the $200 White that I’ve had for almost 9 years.

So, potentially, there is plenty to write about, but I guess the block is more about the writing itself. I need to sit down and make myself do it every morning again. Somehow that little bit of alone time  has morphed into shipping packages, paying bills and other dreary, but necessary tasks. Somehow I need to recapture that 45 mintes to an hour for myself. And my readers.

(All two of you.)

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