This is a picture of my typewriter, I took and edited the picture. I seriously love my typewriter. I love the smell of it, the look of it, the feel of it. I love the way the sunlight bounces off of it in the morning.
No, this is not a love poem about my typewriter. I bought it for $5 at an auction once.
Best money ever spent.
Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to be a writer.
I always had quite the imagination and I would just write down all of these stories into my diaries and journals. I had a LOT of those, let me tell you. I've been finding old diaries everywhere. I hoard them, sort of like a squirrel does with nuts.
I remember writing a story for my best friend in high school. I called it her soap opera. It was about her, her boyfriend, me, the guy I had a crush on, our other friend, and her crush. It was fantastic. It was funny, witty, and had a good plot. I just wish I could find it. I didn't have my computer back then, otherwise I know I would still have it. I never delete anything. God, that was amazing.
I used to write poems too. Except I lost most of those. One of my favorites was called "Clouds." I wrote it when I was 12 and I was in our big Astro Van, laying on the seat and looking out the window. I had always been in awe of clouds and that poem just sort of came to me. I remember it started out like this: "big and fluffy, high and small, black and mean, I like them all."
But that's all I can remember and it makes me mad.
Unfortunately, I lost my confidence over the years and now I just don't think I could make it was a writer. I've been out of practice for awhile, ever since I came to college, actually. This is supposed to be the place we pursue our dreams, and instead I gave up on mine. I wanted to major in English and Creative Writing, but that went out the window when I realized I actually wanted to make money.
I read so many books and I think to myself, I could do that. Seriously, I could. I've got talent, right? Then I put the book back down. I'm just some small town Iowa girl who comes from a lower middle class family. I can't do that.
Damn it.
See what I mean? I lose all faith in myself. Well, the other day I was coming home from work. It was a really nice day out, not humid, I'd sad around 80 degrees. The sun was shining, the wind was calm. There were a few puffs of clouds in the bright blue sky. Seriously, perfect.
I had my windows open when I heard the sound of a lawn mower. Then this weird dialogue came into my head, a little narration if you will. I wrote it down as soon as I got home. I didn't know what to make of it.
I never knew how much I missed the smell of fresh cut grass until I came back to town. As I drove by a familiar pink house, the smell wafted in through my open window and brought back memories of hot summer days.
I didn't think I'd ever come back to this town, and yet here I am, driving down mainstreet like I hadn't been gone for fifteen years.
What the hell is that? I didn't know either. I pulled out my little book (ha, not THAT little black book. No one has those anymore, it's called a cellphone) and started writing more.
The town I grew up in hadn't changed much since I'd been gone. Two old men were sitting on a bench wearing overalls and trucker hats. I'm almost positive they were talking about their corn yield. The 99 cent movie theatre had expanded; it finally had two screens. I heard the library had burnt down and in it's place, the mayor had built a convenience store. How depressing was that?
It was still the same boring town I grew up in. Nothing for teenagers to do but drink underage and vandalize buildings. Been there, done that. What kid in town hadn't? Thinking about that brought up memories I did not want to visit. I sped through downtown and headed for the one place I didn't want to, my parents' house.
I actually rewrote this part about three times. I just don't understand why this came to me..
I wrote out a plot synopsis. I kept changing my mind mid sentence, so a lot of it doesn't really make any sense. I just wanted to get everything and anything down before I forgot. It went about seven thousand different places. But there is one thing I'm sure of.
My main character. Her name is Andie. She's the youngest of four children. Her three older siblings are all successful and have their own families, while Andie is still trying to figure out who she is and what she wants to do with her life. All of her life, she wanted to be a writer (this is not me, trust me on this one) and loved putting her thoughts into words. But in high school, Andie hung out with the wrong crowd. She was tired of never being good enough for her family and living in her siblings' shadows. She did what she could to stand out, even if that meant breaking the law. Her family stopped speaking to her. She went to a college as far away from them and that small town as she could. She never went back home after that. Andie considered herself an only child(something happened that caused this big riff). She put herself through college, getting a journalism degree. After college, she moved to a big city and lived in a crappy apartment. Jobs were hard to come by, so she pays rent by answering phones and tending a bar.. nothing to do with writing at all. She has no idea who she is or what she's going to do with her life. She secretly missed the small town life.. her big city dream is slowly going down the toilet.
I'm not sure where to go, though. Andie's mother, who is the glue that is holding the family together, gets really sick. All of her children go home to take care of her. There is a lot of animosity between the siblings and a lot of fighting goes on and a lot of lose ends get tied. That's all to be developed. I think once I start writing it, it'll all go better. But why would I write it? What's the point? There probably is no point. I'd just spend a lot of my time writing a story that no one will read. Oh well, right? Life goes on.
Maybe I'll just post it on here? No, that's probably not a good idea. Well, whatever. I'll let you know what's going on with that. I've gotten all of my characters figured out, I think. The plot needs work, and I'll probably write an outline shortly. I'm kind of excited. :-) It gives me something to do over the summer anyway.
thinking about children. 
