Just Write.

I've been trying to exercise that writing muscle in my brain (or fingertips?) all night. Maybe not all night, but at least for the past two hours. I can promise that I have probably been writing a whole bunch of nonsense, but it's better than the nothing that I've been doing so much with.

As of next weekend, I will be a healthy twenty-six-year-old. While most women my age are getting engaged or married, or maybe creating some new life forms, I am having a severe case of mid-twenties crisis. No, really. I swear up and down that I am 26-going-on-30. My best friend is happily married, my sister is getting married next month, and I can count on one finger how many ladies would be in my wedding. Wait, two fingers--I've included myself as the bride. 

Wedding humor aside, I'm not actually anxious about the fluff of eternal love. Turning 26 doesn't tingle my sense because I think I'm  missing out on the beauty of "til death do us part." Actually, I'm biting my nails to the quick because I haven't published a novel yet. Yes, that's my mid-twenties crisis. All these years of journaling, writing poetry, essaying until I can't focus, and not one book has been birthed from these achy little fingers. Really! Life is one  big experience worth having, and I've spent so many years journaling about this or that--but not once have I stopped to write a  book about it...or anything! I'm appalled, honestly, and completely terrified. I have everything I need to write a novella of the stars, yet something is stopping me. What is it? Oh, I don't know--FEAR. Fear of what? Rejection? Hardly. I plan to write under a pseudonym so all the critics can tear me a new one without even knowing who they've scarred. But I am afraid of letting my life slip by with nothing to show for it. I used to say, "Oh, I don't want to be anything grand; I just like to write for myself!" Modesty--shove it. I want to write for everyone! I suppose my biggest stumbling block is where to start?

How does one just...start? What do the greatest of greats do when confronted with the new and challenging task of writing a book? Or, in my case, finding the gusto to put a few thoughts onto the page and let the masterpiece write itself. Maybe my ideas are too lofty, too demanding? I can't say for sure. Really, my biggest issue is material. I don't exactly know what kind of a book I'd like to write. I could honestly sit here all day and blog my eyeballs out, but it wouldn't bring me any closer to completing--or starting--a novel. Perhaps I'll dig into my own juicy past and bring all of my skeletons back to life for the sake of a few good reviews. 

I think, honestly, the best way to begin a novel is just to...write it. Please, someone, get this girl the  Pulitzer.

XO,

Syd