Earlier this week I wrote something unlike anything I've written before.
Mostly I consider myself to be good at communicating with words. I'm not very creative. I don't think of stories or characters. I don't daydream.
But I had the beginning of an autobiographical fiction piece in my head for a long time.
So I started it and went through a pretty quick process of fleshing it out and taking it in one direction. It was an exhilarating experience, really. Being in the middle of it and wondering what direction I should take it (since there were so many available to me) was really frustrating. And for those moments I actually felt like, "a writer." I loved how frustrated I was!
It's by no means amazing. I always read things several months after I wrote them and realize, "Wow, that was a piece of crap." So, I'm sure it's even worse than I can acknowledge right now. The sweet boyfriend thinks I should submit it somewhere. :) Isn't that cute? I love having fans. Or I guess I should say I love having a... fan...
Anyway, it was a different and awesome writing experience for me.
In other different and awesome experiences, my skirt almost flew up today in this forsaken weather. But it didn't. But I imagined how funny it would be if that had happened. You have to laugh at that kind of thing...