I Have a Dream Too

In fifth grade, Mrs. Falling proclaimed that one day oceangypsy would be a writer. It made me blush, but I was proud. I was proud that someone thought I could do it and a writer seemed a noble thing to be.

In twelfth grade, I overheard Mr. Pendergast saying, "oceangypsy has all the makings of a really good writer." It was one of my best days.

That was eighteen years ago and dare I say that I still have a dream. I recently started a novel and the process is exhaustive. My plot plays out like a movie in my mind, but the written word takes so much longer to actually articulate. Maybe, it is the fact that I've taken an extended break from this craft. I find myself fumbling for words and they seem too simple, but I guess that's how I think.

And then, I consider a murder plot, but need to know how to make it convincing. Only, I chicken out on Googling any plausible ideas on the off chance someone in my life might come up shall we say, expired. I cannot have the evidence of researching a crime right there on my computer! Prison may offer a continental breakfast but I'm not quite ready for that country club just yet.

This process feels like being pregnant. I can't stop thinking about the "baby", but it exhausts me. I want the "baby" but am not sure if the whole labor thing is gonna work out.