Musings.

What I want to know is why it took me 26 years to realize what I really wanted to do with my life was to write novels? 

I was lying in bed the other night and suddenly realized my 27th birthday is coming up fast.  Realized I was almost thirty.  Realized I'd actually been creating stories since I could draw a decent stick figure.  Realized I'd been dreaming of publishing a novel since I was fourteen.  Remembered how I had wanted to be a young published author.  How I imagined myself sitting in my own apartment surrounded by cats and notebooks and binders, in front of a computer, writing my next book.  (If I hadn't of gotten married, I'd totally be that crazy cat lady…)  Remembered how it had been typing up my first finished novel-length story (in highschool) that had finally taught me how to type at all.  (Years of classes didn't do crap for me.) Remembered how put off I was upon seeing Eragon – written by a 15 year old! -grow so popular.  Remembered how I loved to talk to people about the creation of stories and characters and plots.  For hours on end.  How I took my notebook EVERYWHERE and didn't stop writing even while taking a dolphin sight-seeing trip in Virgina.

And yet, somehow, I did no Creative Writing based studies in college.  I eyed them with longing, then skipped over to the Mass Comm and Broadcasting classes, cuz that's what my major was at the time.  WHY!?  I suppose because, like almost every college aged kid, there were two forces warring with eachother in my head: what I really wanted to do above all else, and what I thought I would like doing that would also make me money.  I do not blame this on my parents telling me that writing novels would lead to me being a starving artist, or telling me the odds of actually getting one published, not to mention making any money from it, were abysmal.  On the contrary, my parents have always been extremely supportive of my writing habit.  My mother is the most optimistic person I've ever met, and constantly told me I could be and do anything I wanted, and that I would be successful at it, too.  She even bought me a card the day after I finished my first 800 handwritten page novel to congratulate me.

I love my mother.

But I still ignored the Creative Writing-related career path.  I went from Broadcast and Film to Animal Science, convinced I would enjoy taking care of the furry (or non furry) beasts, convinced I would enjoy the research aspect, convinced I would just continue to write "on the side".

I am sure there are plenty of people out there who have time to do that.  Who are perfectly capable of doing that.  I am most definitely, as it turns out, NOT one of those people.  Perhaps it's just that I have far too many things I really enjoy doing.  Things like playing with my horses, going riding, camping, floating, going to the lake, reading, playing video games, watching movies in our home theater, landscaping, gardening, and taking care of our eight acres.  This is not to say I didn't enjoy doing most of these same things when I was in gradeschool/highschool, when writing completely consumed my life, in fact my interests have changed very little since then, but… I certainly had fewer opportunities to engage in these activities back then. 

This, of course, is no excuse.

But I have been using it as one.  Because truthfully, by the time I finish my workday, spend the hour getting home, eat some dinner, and do some minor house chores, I have about an hour before my usual bedtime.  That hour is usually filled by time with the hubby, time doing any of the activities listed above, and yes, also sometimes by working on my novels.  But it is most definitely NOT NEAR enough time for me to feel satisfied.  Grrr.

What is the answer?

I should have done the Creative Writing career path, that's what.  I could be teaching writing classes at some university right now at the very least, and I'd be really excited to go to work every day if that were the case.  I'm just pissed off at myself that even given all the signs throughout my life, I didn't take the initiative to do something like that from the beginning, to end up in a place I would really really be happy in. 

The last straw was really this book I'm reading, entitled "Chosen by a Horse", which is great, btw.  But in the memoir the author mentions how she was then 43, and had been dreaming about writing a novel since she was seven.  Then I looked at the front of the book, and saw the words "National Bestseller" there, and was extremely happy for her.  And at the same time, angry at myself.  It was a good kick in the ass, actually.  (She also teaches writing at the college level)

So now I have a good new burst of determination.  😀  I still have The Plan in place, and it is still doable.  I just have to try really hard not to get overly distracted while still making sure I don't let the whole summer go to waste.  😛  But, I am taking the following steps to help myself out:
1) I will be learning a new job soon that will allow me to work less, make more money, and stay at home.  No, it is not a scam.  And it's not that damn Google thing, either.
2) I will continue to research online degrees in the Creative Writing department… never too late, right?  (No schools in my area offer anything higher than a CW minor, the bastards…)
3)  I will do a better job of sticking to my previously made schedule, which allows a large chunk of novel writing time three days a week
4) I.WILL.WRITE.LESS.FANFICTION.GODDAMNIT.

I'm sure, if you are reading this, that you will learn of my progress when I make some.  😀

And as for the good news….

I went back to work on Guardian Angel some more today, but hadn't touched it for two months, so I had to reread most of it, and the excellent part was – I really liked it!!!!!!!  I love where it's going and I love the characters.  I'm really excited to finally give it some more attention!!  ^_^