Talk about speaking something into being...

So, I may have been a tad melodramatic on my last post, but I think I must have spoken my "worst day" theory into being...here's how the rest of my day played out: I decided to get over my pitty party and make a big dinner and try to get the house reasonably picked up (we're STILL unpacking!) so it would be nice for Zack when he got home. I went (you guessed it, down and up the stairs) to get Zack from school, and didn't stop to get gas because, you guessed it, we had no money! Well, I picked him up and, yup, ran out of gas on the way home! So, we had a big fight as we pushed the car to the gas station. He stopped to get the mail at the front of the apartments and I said I was going to walk home from there. About 10 (literally) steps afterward, the bottom fell out and it started to pour on me. So, then I had to get back in the car with Zack even though I was still mad, which totally meant I lost! I went home and got in the bath again to drown my sorrows. What a day! Now I'm practicing: today is going to be the best day ever!

A Writer's Dream

When I was young--maybe 6 or 7--I had a very vivid dream. In the dream, I needed desperately to write something down. Just before I woke up, I found a notebook and a pen to use. When I opened my eyes, I was clenching what I thought were the items that had seemed so real to me, and I remember being so excited when I woke up, thinking I still had them in my hands. I don't remember what it was I needed to write down so badly, but I never forgot that dream or that feeling. I always think about it when I think about being a writer. I always wanted to tell stories even when I was young. I remember writing stories about flamingoes and elephants and drawing illustrations to go with them in my room on Paris Street. In school, I loved writing book reports even when I didn't bother to read the books. I would just make up my own plot and hope the teacher didn't realize. And in High School English, instead of writing my vocab words and definitions, I would use them all in a story I would write in which all my classmates were the characters. Mrs. Blackwell would always read it out loud and everyone would get excited to hear their name in the story. I loved to write poetry and music lyrics and journal entries and letters. In community college, I realized in my second semester that creative writing was my favorite subject, and the one I spent most of my time working on. But when novelists in my Creative Writing II class made me feel insecure and open class critiques drove my perfectionist personality crazy, I started to question if I was capable of becoming a successful writer. My academic advisor shared my intrepidation and suggested I use my creativity and writing interests toward a career with more stability like advertising or public relations. I could go for advertising if not for all the selling and deception. So, I left Jr College with an AA in Communications with an emphasis in PR and absolutely no idea what that meant. When I started back at USF, I figured Journalism would be a good way to write and get paid for it. Turns out I hate journalism, reporting, and I think the media in general. My last semester there, I needed some electives, and decided to give Creative Writing 3 a go. Favorite class in 2 years at USF, hands down. So, here I am, graduated from USF with a Journalism degree. No intentions of being a Journalist. Looking into going to a school to be a children's book author. Not sure if that's a scam though. No real writing prospects...nothing but a blog and a dream.