the day i decided to write a novel {again}

last winter, while waiting for a flight to Athens at the dingy, food-less (the horror) Mykonos airport, a lightbulb went off in my head. Sort of. But really, I suddenly had this novel in my mind, this main character, and it was all unraveling (or, rather, I was spouting off word vomit to my dad and little sister, who, to be fair, were really good sports about it). We all got really into it, actually, offering possible scenarios and characters and ways in which the plot could thicken even thicker (it was already pretty damn thick, but you know).

then I got home, and I may have tried to start writing, oh, you know, once or twice. But then I chickened out. C-O-M-M-I-T-M-E-N-T. P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E F-A-I-L-U-R-E.*

*wuss.

when I was 12, I wrote crappy novel after crappier novel after crappiest novel. My sister pretended to read them. My main characters had cool names. Like Sanne and Emma (hey, I thought that was real original back then, okay?). Not like Debbie, which I still think is a name better suited for an 80s high school cheerleader with one of those poofy perms that is just out of control.

obviously, at the time, I thought I was a way better writer than I actually am (and certainly than I actually was).

anyway! Today I realized how bored I am on a daily basis. I go to class. I feed Simba. I yell at Simba. I tell Simba to stop shitting in the house. I go on a run. I contemplate signing up for a 5K and then think of how embarrassing it would be to be the last one crossing the finish line. I ditch the 5K idea. I go to class again. I eat peanut butter. I nap. I blog. I work, if there is any work to do. I yell at my boyfriend for not texting me back. I text Simba pictures to my boyfriend's sister and my sister and my dad and every single one of my contacts. I read. I watch Mad Men (or Teen Mom or Dance Moms. Real quality television). I do homework. I drink coffee.

buuuuuut I am bored!

the truth is that life was so much more exciting when I was doing gymnastics. But I am not anymore. Because I cannot will my back to un-injure itself, as much as I try to pretend. I guess I will write about this some other day. Maybe. It's upsetting.

so so so!

I have officially decided to put my big girl panties on and write the stupid novel. Yep. I'm putting it out there so that I can be kept accountable. Possible internet shame should be enough motivation, don't you think?

okay. So I'm doing it. I'll write in my room and at Starbucks and from the balcony with a side of coffee or chai tea. P-E-R-F-E-C-T.