Readin' and Writin'

I love both. Problem is, I don't have enough time to do either very well or as often as I'd like. Take reading, for example. Since I was taught to read at the age of 3, I have had my nose in a book. My younger siblings, to this day, grouse about the fact that, growing up, while they were off playing and getting into trouble, I was usually in my room reading. My mom was always reading. Ask any of the four of us kids to describe Mom and we would each say, "I picture her sitting on the couch, twisting her hair (a nervous habit she had), reading a book, and smoking a cigarette". That was Mom. She passed her love of reading on to all of us, but probably more to me than the other three. I escaped from the harsh realities of life through reading (don't we all?) I imagined I was Nancy Drew in my sporty blue roadster, solving every mystery that came my way with my trusty boyfriend, Ned. As I got older, I was Sherlock Holmes, or some other sleuth, using my wits to outwit the murderer and bring him to justice. I was never the helpless damsel in distress - no way. I was always the heroine, the smart gal who solved every crime, was admired by all, had zillions of friends. Yup, that was me. Now, I'm lucky to get through a book in 90 days. I've been trying to finish the same Gabaldon novel for over a year now. I just don't have time! It is so frustrating.

Growing up, when I wasn't reading, I was writing. I looked forward to my creative writing classes and my composition classes that allowed me to write and write and write. I loved essay tests. These afforded me the opportunity to demonstrate to my teachers my amazing mastery of the English language as I expounded on the subject at hand (at least, I thought I was amazing). Give me a pad of paper, a notebook, and I was writing something - short stories, poems, brief articles for the school paper, anything. The books I read often gave me ideas for my creative writing assignments. I am a very good mimic. I can copy another author's style, cadence, mood, and voice with little effort. I can mimic not only another's writing, but also one's manner of speech, gestures, mannerisms, and accent. Sometimes I think I should have been an impersonator. The problem with this "talent" is I wonder if I even have my own writing voice. When I read someone else's work, if I set about to write something of my own, I find myself sounding like the work I just read. If I read Charlie's blog, I start to write like Charlie (well, I could never be that good or funny, but I try). If I read Diana Gabaldon, I start to sound like her. If I read Heinlein, I'm writing like him. Stick some Hemingway in my face, and I'm writing spartan prose like his. It's frustrating, annoying, and weird. Who am I anyway?

Beyond that frustration, is simply the lack of time I have to write the way I'd like to write. This blog, at least, offers some teensy weensy opportunity to express myself in writing, however meager. I am so critical of what I post, too. I ponder whether this blog should be about family, friends, my beliefs, just random rambling, none of the above, all of the above, or something else entirely. And then I wonder if it even matters at all. I actually started a novel right here in a blog. Chapter 1 was pretty good. And then I got stuck, too busy, didn't like the blog format for writing a novel, which would be edited a thousand times anyway, so I hid it from public view. It's still there, nudging me every now and again to revisit it, add to it, breathe life back into it. Perhaps I'll do that one of these days - when work isn't so busy (that will never happen), when my family life is not so demanding (never be a time like that), when I have nothing else demanding my attention (maybe when I'm 80).... in other words, it will probably languish forever and die a slow, undignified death. Are all writers - or rather, aspiring writers - this negative about their writing? Hmmmm.... I'm sure my readers will share their thoughts, experiences, etc. with me (PLEASE!?!).