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November is here. The one month out of the year that we are supposed to run out to the voting booths, honor our Veterans and spend a day sweating it out in the kitchen over a gigantic bird and try make a semi-edible meal, all too give thanks for the things we are grateful for.
Or one can use this month to do what I have chosen to do. Write.
I have joined an incredible group of people in an effort to challenge ourselves to write 50,000 words and have networked locally with a group of women who support and encourage each other to achieve this goal.
Now, I am not doing this because I write well. Nor am I doing it because I have aspirations of becoming a great author. I am not sure the reason why I am doing it is really important, I just am and that feels good.
What I find most interesting about the whole idea of writing these 50,000 words is what I am writing about. I always pictured myself writing a suspenseful murder mystery. It also wouldn’t have surprised me if I had chosen to write about parenthood, since I have 17+ years of experience, plus a head full of cute anecdotes, not-so cute stories of executed mischief and lots of feelings about how parenthood could be.
But back in October when I started forming the ideas for my story, I pictured women. Friends from the past, torn apart by time, brought together by a lovely elderly woman. I dreamed about my story and formed scenarios in my head. I couldn’t wait for November 1st, to finally start pounding they keyboard and let my ideas burst forth into real words.
While I am watching these words pop onto my computer screen, I am realizing that what I am writing is really a reflection of me. Or how I wish things could be. Not everything, because there is some pretty deep tragedy which I would gladly avoid in my real life, but rekindling old friendships? Sure, I have had friends come and go in my life and have often wondered, What if? I miss them and it hurts. Burying myself in work or the kids and not allowing anyone else in? Guilty, as charged. Sitting on my talents, not sharing them with others because I am afraid that they won’t approve of what I have done? My work won’t be good enough? You bet. The plot of my story unfolds and it is me.
But on the flip-side, in real life, I am the wife that decided to finally take charge to leave her husband and not put up with the infidelity and the lies. I can ask for help, instead of waiting years until I am beat down so bad I have no choice. And I have an elderly mentor in my life; accomplished, revered and she loves me no matter what. The story isn’t ending and in some ways it is just beginning.
So, November is here and today I am going to vote, Friday I am going to honor the Veterans and later on I might just try to cook a bird and I will definitely give thanks.
But today I am going to write.
Yea!! Writing isn't my thing but if it was I would totally do this. When you have finished writing this make sure you print it off so many years from now when you are dead and gone your children can see inside of Mom's brain. Unless of course it's the next best seller! :)
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