My mom (who, for the record, was not as grossed out by the salt and blood thing as I made her out to be) is excited about me finally putting pictures up here. Since I have none, she's volunteered to send one of her favorites. It's not in my possession in digital format yet, but I wanted to warn you all in advance: The hair color you'll see in this picture is bright, bright red. Not ginger. Red. Or, as noted on the container, Vampire Red (said in a deep, horror-movie voice).
I'll explain. First, we were in North Dakota. Second, I have a cousin. Third, I'm on a budget.
Mom is from North Dakota, and my grandmother and uncle live out there. 9 years ago, I was out visiting Granna and my cousin Christy, then 16, dyed my hair purple for me. It smelled like grapes. As it washed out, if left purple all over the shower curtains, towels, shirt collars... Since then, I've often thought, You know, I don't think dark purple was really my color. I'd look much better in a deep, forest green.
So this year, when we all headed to ND for Christmas, I told Christy I wished we'd done green. "We can take care of that," she said. So we went a-huntin' for dark green hair dye in every punk store in Grand Forks. There are more of those than you'd think. At the record shop, Christy bought some incense and she said, "Hey Holly, they don't have hair dye, but they have piercing needles!" This is a girl who's pierced her own father's ear. That should say something about both of them.
We eventually found green hair dye, but it was fifteen bucks. Honestly, who spends that much on their hair? Surely no one. So we went to another store where the only green was really light and yellow. Not foresty. But they did have a deep red for eight dollars, and it was just a few days before Christmas, so that seemed both cheap and festive. Killer combo!
Thus I went red.
You'll see.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Guess Where I'm Writing From!
From my home computer! It had all kinds of things that weren't working two days ago. It wouldn't even boot up. It had done this before, and it required a fair bit of TLC to get it functioning again. But tonight I turned it on, just to see, and ta-da! Happy machine.
Sorry for writing you off so quickly, my Dell.
I'd still like to look into that laptop, though. For the onion rings.
Sorry for writing you off so quickly, my Dell.
I'd still like to look into that laptop, though. For the onion rings.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sweet Dell, You've Been Good to Me
Yesterday, my computer crashed for the third time in as many years. I've had it since Christmas of '01, and the poor thing has been limping for a while now. At the moment, it appears to be in a sort of computer coma -- there are signs of life, but it can't quite do anything. I have friends who have put in long hours resuscitating it in the past, and this time I think rather than bother them again I'll take the plunge and get a new one. Big investment for little me.
And this time, I'm thinking: Laptop! I have daydreams about writing for this blog as I sit in coffee shops. Or let's face it, for me it will be a sub shop, and I'll have to wipe the off the grease from my onion rings before typing a sentence. That's OK. Coffee shops are for poets and novelists. I don't have the attention span to write a novel, and you all have seen my poetry. Truck-driving ducks? Pass the ketchup, please.
I'm also looking forward to eavesdropping on the conversations of the people around me and putting what they say into what I write. You know, for authenticity. Otherwise I'm just left coming up with my own jokes, and who knows how quickly that well will run dry. Best to start plagiarizing and quoting without permission now.
I haven't even chosen a new machine yet, and I'm already looking toward the next big purchase: perhaps a digital camera! I'm not much of a photographer, but I'm rethinking my original desire not to put any pictures on my blog. As Marquioni noted in one of his comments, he only knows me through the characters I type. When I started this, I quite liked the idea of creating a face made only of words, so that people's views of me weren't filtered through anything visual. But let's be honest, those who know me already know what I look like, and those who don't are dying to know what I look like, aren't you? It's OK, you don't have to admit it here. Holly knows.
And speaking of knowing me through my words, I managed to be surprised at the response I got (some of them outside this blog) to that post about salt and blood. Even though I'm the one who wrote it, sometimes I can be like a naive girl, not entirely aware of the effect she's having on those around her. It appears the verdict is in, though: Writing about salty, blood-tasting lips is, indeed, hot. Thanks for the feedback, fellas. If this blog weren't already pink, it would blush.
And this time, I'm thinking: Laptop! I have daydreams about writing for this blog as I sit in coffee shops. Or let's face it, for me it will be a sub shop, and I'll have to wipe the off the grease from my onion rings before typing a sentence. That's OK. Coffee shops are for poets and novelists. I don't have the attention span to write a novel, and you all have seen my poetry. Truck-driving ducks? Pass the ketchup, please.
I'm also looking forward to eavesdropping on the conversations of the people around me and putting what they say into what I write. You know, for authenticity. Otherwise I'm just left coming up with my own jokes, and who knows how quickly that well will run dry. Best to start plagiarizing and quoting without permission now.
I haven't even chosen a new machine yet, and I'm already looking toward the next big purchase: perhaps a digital camera! I'm not much of a photographer, but I'm rethinking my original desire not to put any pictures on my blog. As Marquioni noted in one of his comments, he only knows me through the characters I type. When I started this, I quite liked the idea of creating a face made only of words, so that people's views of me weren't filtered through anything visual. But let's be honest, those who know me already know what I look like, and those who don't are dying to know what I look like, aren't you? It's OK, you don't have to admit it here. Holly knows.
And speaking of knowing me through my words, I managed to be surprised at the response I got (some of them outside this blog) to that post about salt and blood. Even though I'm the one who wrote it, sometimes I can be like a naive girl, not entirely aware of the effect she's having on those around her. It appears the verdict is in, though: Writing about salty, blood-tasting lips is, indeed, hot. Thanks for the feedback, fellas. If this blog weren't already pink, it would blush.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Kissable Sentences
My brother read and approved of my little blog about Continental. Especially flattering as he was my muse. A 6'2", 250 lb., farting muse.
So, a couple weeks ago I hung out in the city after work. I didn't feel like going home, so I grabbed some high-sodium food from the Value Menu at Wendy's, and sat and wrote for a while. Then I wandered down to the Prudential Center to see if there were any nice journals at the bookstore. I love journals. It's always my hope that I'll have experiences worthy of the beautiful blank book I'm buying. I found none that inspired me, none that made me want to have beautiful, book-worthy experiences... except the expensive leather ones. So that's what I got. It felt like an investment in my future, an act of faith, a declaration that my future deserves such a book.
By the time I'd bought it and done some more writing, though, I was pretty dehydrated. The last thing I'd eaten was French fries, and my lips were getting a little raw. They tasted like salt and blood. And I thought, "Oooo, My lips taste like salt and blood. That's a cool sentence!" Then I thought, "My mom won't like that sentence. She'll think it's gross. And she thinks I downplay my beauty too much, and this isn't going to make anyone want to kiss me." And I also thought, "Maybe men will want to kiss me because I write cool sentences! Maybe they'll say, 'Wow, salt and blood! I'm drooling at the thought of the female brain that wrote that sentence."
What do you all think? Salt and blood may be gross, but writing about them is totally hot.
Uh, right?
So, a couple weeks ago I hung out in the city after work. I didn't feel like going home, so I grabbed some high-sodium food from the Value Menu at Wendy's, and sat and wrote for a while. Then I wandered down to the Prudential Center to see if there were any nice journals at the bookstore. I love journals. It's always my hope that I'll have experiences worthy of the beautiful blank book I'm buying. I found none that inspired me, none that made me want to have beautiful, book-worthy experiences... except the expensive leather ones. So that's what I got. It felt like an investment in my future, an act of faith, a declaration that my future deserves such a book.
By the time I'd bought it and done some more writing, though, I was pretty dehydrated. The last thing I'd eaten was French fries, and my lips were getting a little raw. They tasted like salt and blood. And I thought, "Oooo, My lips taste like salt and blood. That's a cool sentence!" Then I thought, "My mom won't like that sentence. She'll think it's gross. And she thinks I downplay my beauty too much, and this isn't going to make anyone want to kiss me." And I also thought, "Maybe men will want to kiss me because I write cool sentences! Maybe they'll say, 'Wow, salt and blood! I'm drooling at the thought of the female brain that wrote that sentence."
What do you all think? Salt and blood may be gross, but writing about them is totally hot.
Uh, right?
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Continental
My brother has been a Navy pilot for the last 8 years, and is now leaving active duty to fly for Continental Airlines. He is a fine, upstanding young man, and I would place my life in his hands any day. He's also a freaking riot, and it's a darn shame that commercial pilots are supposed to maintain a professional level of boringness in their in-flight announcements, because his would be an improvisational hoot. In honor of this next step in his life, I now offer a few of the things he won't be allowed to say over the intercom:
Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I feel the need: the Need for Speed. We'll be flying into the danger zone shortly, once I've buzzed the control tower. Please pay very close attention as the flight attendant demonstrates how to operate your parachutes.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching our destination. I hope you all slept as well as I did. As we begin our precipitous drop, I'd like to remind you all not to try the stunts you're about to see at home, mostly because you all don't have planes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm your captain... because I'm awesome. Today I'll be your captain. Yes, you're welcome! You know, in a way I have the gift of flight, so it's kind of like I'm a superhero. In fact, why don't you call me Captain Awesome. Now you kids, don't all rush the cockpit to get an autograph; there'll be plenty of time for that once we're back on the ground. For now, just tell your parents how much you want to grow up to be me. And parents, enjoy your in-flight movie, and sit back and enjoy the Awesome.
Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I feel the need: the Need for Speed. We'll be flying into the danger zone shortly, once I've buzzed the control tower. Please pay very close attention as the flight attendant demonstrates how to operate your parachutes.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching our destination. I hope you all slept as well as I did. As we begin our precipitous drop, I'd like to remind you all not to try the stunts you're about to see at home, mostly because you all don't have planes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm your captain... because I'm awesome. Today I'll be your captain. Yes, you're welcome! You know, in a way I have the gift of flight, so it's kind of like I'm a superhero. In fact, why don't you call me Captain Awesome. Now you kids, don't all rush the cockpit to get an autograph; there'll be plenty of time for that once we're back on the ground. For now, just tell your parents how much you want to grow up to be me. And parents, enjoy your in-flight movie, and sit back and enjoy the Awesome.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Carrying a Tiki Torch
On Sunday, I caught a bit of the Charlie Rose program. He was interviewing Tiki Barber about the NFL playoffs. I'd heard the name Tiki Barber before, but didn't really know who the man was or what he did. I gleaned from the conversation, though -- this is how smart I am -- that he played for the NY Giants and, upon his recent retirement, was picked up by one of the major TV networks as a commentator or correspondent of some kind.
I don't generally follow sports, but everything Tiki said was interesting to me. He was so intelligent, thoughtful, and articulate, and he talked about football in terms that someone like me could appreciate and understand.
And he was pretty.
I imagine a catch like that already has a wife, so allow me to issue the following statement: Mrs. Barber, I'm not after your man. I hope you won't mind too much, though, if I respectfully admire him from afar. He seems like a swell fella. And he got me to like football, for Pete's sake. The man could be canonized for performing a verifiable miracle.
I don't generally follow sports, but everything Tiki said was interesting to me. He was so intelligent, thoughtful, and articulate, and he talked about football in terms that someone like me could appreciate and understand.
And he was pretty.
I imagine a catch like that already has a wife, so allow me to issue the following statement: Mrs. Barber, I'm not after your man. I hope you won't mind too much, though, if I respectfully admire him from afar. He seems like a swell fella. And he got me to like football, for Pete's sake. The man could be canonized for performing a verifiable miracle.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
And in Winter, It Freezes
Boston has a spitting epidemic. You can't walk more than a few yards in America's quintessential college town without having to dodge globs and splats on the sidewalk. I can't complain about it much beyond that, though, because I've seen worse -- in Paris, of all places. The city of light. Of romance. Of great art. Perhaps Parisians are all too busy making love, but if my walks were anything to go by, not one of them knows how to clean up after their dog. Le doodoo all over the place. Tres icky.
And because I'm a teacher at heart, here's a medical tidbit I learned last night from my roommate, who's a nurse: Alcohol inhibits the body's natural anti-diuretic hormone. Translation: Most of the time your body has the good sense not to wet itself. When you drink, that overwhelming urge to pee isn't just from taking in lots of liquid, or even the same general lack of control that affects every other part of you. There's a chemical that's no longer able to do its job. So, next time you're sitting in a bar and realize you've suddenly soiled your Jordaches, you can slur your way through this nifty little scientific explanation as to why. That ought to impress the cute guy who'd been staring at you ever since your barstool started dripping.
And because I'm a teacher at heart, here's a medical tidbit I learned last night from my roommate, who's a nurse: Alcohol inhibits the body's natural anti-diuretic hormone. Translation: Most of the time your body has the good sense not to wet itself. When you drink, that overwhelming urge to pee isn't just from taking in lots of liquid, or even the same general lack of control that affects every other part of you. There's a chemical that's no longer able to do its job. So, next time you're sitting in a bar and realize you've suddenly soiled your Jordaches, you can slur your way through this nifty little scientific explanation as to why. That ought to impress the cute guy who'd been staring at you ever since your barstool started dripping.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Brilliant When Tipsy
I don't necessarily have a ton to say, but I wanted to build on yesterday's post and see if I can get some momentum. I went out for drinks with one of the editors I work with tonight, so I'm just a little tipsy -- but that ought to make me funnier than ever, right? Let's say yes.
OK, here's something not funny, but which concerns several of you personally: I've decided to take your compliments to heart. For a long time, I worried that I might be kidding myself, wanting to find a career that involved humor and writing. Thousands of people watch sitcoms and listen to David Letterman's Top Ten List, and think, "I could do that." But they can't. Who's to say I'm any different? Well, many of you have said that I'm not kidding myself. Out of some twisted false modesty, though, I thought that your perspective might be skewed by the fact that you're my family and friends, and you like me. And in dismissing your opinions, I did you a disservice. My family and friends are (for the most part ;-) ) intelligent, discerning, informed people. So I now choose to take your encouragement seriously. Thanks for saying all the nice things you've said, even when I wasn't as receptive as I could have been. From now on, I promise to let it all go to my head until I'm unbearable. That shouldn't be a long trip.
Hey, most of you might not know this, but the division I work for is being sold. We may or may not have jobs with the company that's buying us. I was excited when I found out, because I began salivating at the idea of severance pay. Many of my coworkers have begun polishing their resumes and sending them out. I still feel too vague to do that -- I don't know where I'd send a resume -- I don't even like my resume -- but, as the Powers That Be at our company like to say, "The winds of change are blowing," and I find something exciting about that.
OK, getting a little sleepy now. Not a really funny post. This whole blogging thing may be a bit like rehabilitation for me, where keeping going is the key -- excellent quality may have to wait. I hope you'll be patient with me. But if you're reading this after all the months I've been away, then you certainly don't need lessons from me in patience. Congratulations on your vast reservoirs of biblical virtue!
OK, here's something not funny, but which concerns several of you personally: I've decided to take your compliments to heart. For a long time, I worried that I might be kidding myself, wanting to find a career that involved humor and writing. Thousands of people watch sitcoms and listen to David Letterman's Top Ten List, and think, "I could do that." But they can't. Who's to say I'm any different? Well, many of you have said that I'm not kidding myself. Out of some twisted false modesty, though, I thought that your perspective might be skewed by the fact that you're my family and friends, and you like me. And in dismissing your opinions, I did you a disservice. My family and friends are (for the most part ;-) ) intelligent, discerning, informed people. So I now choose to take your encouragement seriously. Thanks for saying all the nice things you've said, even when I wasn't as receptive as I could have been. From now on, I promise to let it all go to my head until I'm unbearable. That shouldn't be a long trip.
Hey, most of you might not know this, but the division I work for is being sold. We may or may not have jobs with the company that's buying us. I was excited when I found out, because I began salivating at the idea of severance pay. Many of my coworkers have begun polishing their resumes and sending them out. I still feel too vague to do that -- I don't know where I'd send a resume -- I don't even like my resume -- but, as the Powers That Be at our company like to say, "The winds of change are blowing," and I find something exciting about that.
OK, getting a little sleepy now. Not a really funny post. This whole blogging thing may be a bit like rehabilitation for me, where keeping going is the key -- excellent quality may have to wait. I hope you'll be patient with me. But if you're reading this after all the months I've been away, then you certainly don't need lessons from me in patience. Congratulations on your vast reservoirs of biblical virtue!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Bringing Bloggy Back
Hi Everybody,
One year ago, over Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend, I announced that I was backing off from blogging in an effort to find out how to enjoy things, and not just do them out of obligation. I never expected to be away this long. In fact, for the last several months, I've thought about posting again, and have had many bloggy thoughts, but have had some kind of internal paralysis that prevented me from getting online and doing it. While I've been gone, several of you have mentioned that you missed my blog and have gently encouraged me to come back. I really appreciated that.
This paralysis hasn't just affected my blog. It's affecting my entire life, including my desire to find work that relates to humor and writing. My tendency is to beat myself up for my inaction, which isn't especially helpful. I know I'm capable of pushing past the lack of inspiration and motivation, of forcing myself do produce and achieve, because I've done it before. The problem with that is that I pushed past that lack of inspiration so much that I forgot what inspiration felt like. I got so used to not enjoying the process that I no longer enjoyed the achievements the processes led to. I didn't want that to happen again. And I didn't want change for the sake of change; I wanted something better than what I had, and that meant being careful and deliberate about what I chose to pursue.
You won't be surprised when I say that I'm a person of thought rather than a person of action. This doesn't mean I never do anything; it just means I tend to live most of my live in my mind, and when I Do, it's usually because I've given the situation a lot of thought and I'm able to back up my actions with reasons. I'm cautious and calculated, and would rather plan my steps than just start running. I don't like falling, and it takes me a while to pick myself up once I've fallen, so I take careful steps. I find that people of action don't mind falling, and they learn by trying and failing, then trying again. I learn by processing internally. Failure tends to hit me quite hard. I know failure is both inevitable and necessary, but that knowledge doesn't change my fundamental nature, which is to work things out in my head before moving.
So there I was, wanting to blog, knowing others wanted me to blog, beating myself up for not Doing more, and still feeling stuck. I kept praying that God would help me to Do. I'd have moments of inspiration, and I tried to feed them, in the hope that inspiration would become motivation, motivation would lead to action, and action would lead to change in the areas in which I most desperately want change. I didn't want to skip those first steps and jump right into action, because I didn't want changes that didn't include inspiration.
I've heard people say that it's easier for God to steer a moving car than a stationary one. But, as a friend and I discussed a few months ago: Who says this is the most accurate or most helpful metaphor? Why must we be cars? Why must we be moving? Who's to say we're not just wasting energy and time, and heading in a direction far removed from where God would have us? If you're a car, and decide to move from Baltimore in the direction of Santa Fe, and you're putting your energy into getting there, what happens when God says He wants you in Buffalo? Will you even hear Him over the din of traffic and your own engine? You've just wasted time and fuel, and you're hundreds of miles out of your way.
That's how I feel in most of the areas of my life, including writing. I'd like to be able to tell people I'm looking for jobs, I'm doing research, I'm writing a lot and it's just a matter of time. But I feel vague and directionless, and I when it comes to taking action, I'm unconvinced. This wasn't always the case. At several points in my life, I've been able to focus on goals and go after them. For the last couple years, though, the goals have been out of focus. For reasons that I don't completely understand and have trouble explaining, I haven't been able to make my life happen, any more than a depressed person can wake up and say, "You know what? I'm going to have an Attitude of Gratitude!", or a chronically ill person can say, "I'm going to put mind over matter and run a 10k!" I don't believe in being utterly passive, but there's a lot to be said for acknowledging your human frailty. I don't know where the line between these things lies.
This morning, I prayed a different prayer. Instead of asking God to get me past whatever hang-up was keeping me from blogging, I prayed that He would restore my blog to me. That seemingly slight change in perspective freed me up, and quickly left room for the very motivation I'd been needing. Thus, here I am, online at home, blogging for the first time in months.
I also admitted to myself and to God that I would like a guide in the world of writing. There are endless resources for writers, including books and web sites, where you can do research and begin carving a career for yourself. But this kind of professional, entrepreneurial bushwhacking is exactly what I found so hard as a musician, an area where my skill was proven and acknowledged. How much harder would it be for me as a writer, where I have no professional experience, and I feel gun-shy from having experienced failure in other areas? Almost all the advice I got was along the lines of, "Here are some resources. I used them. You can, too!" Today, I realized that I need something more personal, almost along the lines of a mentor or private tutor. When I was in high school, my family and I would have been utterly lost when it came to searching out and auditioning for music schools if it hadn't been for my trombone teacher. He held our hands through the process, and was an incredible source of practical counsel and personal perspective. Because no one was offering that kind of almost-parental attention in my pursuit of a writing career, I assumed that it must be wrong for me to want it, that I was supposed to be stronger, more mature, more independent. After all, I'm not in high school anymore, right?
However, whether your desires are right or wrong, it's best to acknowledge that they exist and work with what's there, not with what you wish were there. And sometimes, desires aren't bad; sometimes, they're even needs. So today I asked God for a person or group to guide me in the process of becoming a working writer -- not just a book I could read, but a human who would take a personal interest in me, interact with me, appreciate and affirm my individuality. Someone who would give me a nudge when I need a nudge, but who wouldn't force me in directions that don't suit me at all. I was so excited when I realized I could ask for this, and this excitement is another reason I have the energy to do this blog post you're reading.
I don't know what will come of these prayers. I don't know if I'll have the freedom to post again tomorrow, though I hope I will. But what God gave me today was enough to produce this one post, and that's more than I've been able to do in a long time. If you're a praying person, and would like to see more blogging and more from me as a writer in general, please feel free to pray with me as I take these small but significant steps toward my still-fuzzy dreams. I do believe in a God who answers prayer.
If you're reading this, it's probably because you've been faithfully checking in, every several weeks, to see if I've returned. Thanks for not giving up :-).
Thanks for reading,
Holly
One year ago, over Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend, I announced that I was backing off from blogging in an effort to find out how to enjoy things, and not just do them out of obligation. I never expected to be away this long. In fact, for the last several months, I've thought about posting again, and have had many bloggy thoughts, but have had some kind of internal paralysis that prevented me from getting online and doing it. While I've been gone, several of you have mentioned that you missed my blog and have gently encouraged me to come back. I really appreciated that.
This paralysis hasn't just affected my blog. It's affecting my entire life, including my desire to find work that relates to humor and writing. My tendency is to beat myself up for my inaction, which isn't especially helpful. I know I'm capable of pushing past the lack of inspiration and motivation, of forcing myself do produce and achieve, because I've done it before. The problem with that is that I pushed past that lack of inspiration so much that I forgot what inspiration felt like. I got so used to not enjoying the process that I no longer enjoyed the achievements the processes led to. I didn't want that to happen again. And I didn't want change for the sake of change; I wanted something better than what I had, and that meant being careful and deliberate about what I chose to pursue.
You won't be surprised when I say that I'm a person of thought rather than a person of action. This doesn't mean I never do anything; it just means I tend to live most of my live in my mind, and when I Do, it's usually because I've given the situation a lot of thought and I'm able to back up my actions with reasons. I'm cautious and calculated, and would rather plan my steps than just start running. I don't like falling, and it takes me a while to pick myself up once I've fallen, so I take careful steps. I find that people of action don't mind falling, and they learn by trying and failing, then trying again. I learn by processing internally. Failure tends to hit me quite hard. I know failure is both inevitable and necessary, but that knowledge doesn't change my fundamental nature, which is to work things out in my head before moving.
So there I was, wanting to blog, knowing others wanted me to blog, beating myself up for not Doing more, and still feeling stuck. I kept praying that God would help me to Do. I'd have moments of inspiration, and I tried to feed them, in the hope that inspiration would become motivation, motivation would lead to action, and action would lead to change in the areas in which I most desperately want change. I didn't want to skip those first steps and jump right into action, because I didn't want changes that didn't include inspiration.
I've heard people say that it's easier for God to steer a moving car than a stationary one. But, as a friend and I discussed a few months ago: Who says this is the most accurate or most helpful metaphor? Why must we be cars? Why must we be moving? Who's to say we're not just wasting energy and time, and heading in a direction far removed from where God would have us? If you're a car, and decide to move from Baltimore in the direction of Santa Fe, and you're putting your energy into getting there, what happens when God says He wants you in Buffalo? Will you even hear Him over the din of traffic and your own engine? You've just wasted time and fuel, and you're hundreds of miles out of your way.
That's how I feel in most of the areas of my life, including writing. I'd like to be able to tell people I'm looking for jobs, I'm doing research, I'm writing a lot and it's just a matter of time. But I feel vague and directionless, and I when it comes to taking action, I'm unconvinced. This wasn't always the case. At several points in my life, I've been able to focus on goals and go after them. For the last couple years, though, the goals have been out of focus. For reasons that I don't completely understand and have trouble explaining, I haven't been able to make my life happen, any more than a depressed person can wake up and say, "You know what? I'm going to have an Attitude of Gratitude!", or a chronically ill person can say, "I'm going to put mind over matter and run a 10k!" I don't believe in being utterly passive, but there's a lot to be said for acknowledging your human frailty. I don't know where the line between these things lies.
This morning, I prayed a different prayer. Instead of asking God to get me past whatever hang-up was keeping me from blogging, I prayed that He would restore my blog to me. That seemingly slight change in perspective freed me up, and quickly left room for the very motivation I'd been needing. Thus, here I am, online at home, blogging for the first time in months.
I also admitted to myself and to God that I would like a guide in the world of writing. There are endless resources for writers, including books and web sites, where you can do research and begin carving a career for yourself. But this kind of professional, entrepreneurial bushwhacking is exactly what I found so hard as a musician, an area where my skill was proven and acknowledged. How much harder would it be for me as a writer, where I have no professional experience, and I feel gun-shy from having experienced failure in other areas? Almost all the advice I got was along the lines of, "Here are some resources. I used them. You can, too!" Today, I realized that I need something more personal, almost along the lines of a mentor or private tutor. When I was in high school, my family and I would have been utterly lost when it came to searching out and auditioning for music schools if it hadn't been for my trombone teacher. He held our hands through the process, and was an incredible source of practical counsel and personal perspective. Because no one was offering that kind of almost-parental attention in my pursuit of a writing career, I assumed that it must be wrong for me to want it, that I was supposed to be stronger, more mature, more independent. After all, I'm not in high school anymore, right?
However, whether your desires are right or wrong, it's best to acknowledge that they exist and work with what's there, not with what you wish were there. And sometimes, desires aren't bad; sometimes, they're even needs. So today I asked God for a person or group to guide me in the process of becoming a working writer -- not just a book I could read, but a human who would take a personal interest in me, interact with me, appreciate and affirm my individuality. Someone who would give me a nudge when I need a nudge, but who wouldn't force me in directions that don't suit me at all. I was so excited when I realized I could ask for this, and this excitement is another reason I have the energy to do this blog post you're reading.
I don't know what will come of these prayers. I don't know if I'll have the freedom to post again tomorrow, though I hope I will. But what God gave me today was enough to produce this one post, and that's more than I've been able to do in a long time. If you're a praying person, and would like to see more blogging and more from me as a writer in general, please feel free to pray with me as I take these small but significant steps toward my still-fuzzy dreams. I do believe in a God who answers prayer.
If you're reading this, it's probably because you've been faithfully checking in, every several weeks, to see if I've returned. Thanks for not giving up :-).
Thanks for reading,
Holly
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
