Because I can't be awesome all the time

When I was a girl I knew how my life would go. I knew exactly who I'd be and where I'd end up. I was going to be a writer/teacher because yes I loved Laura Ingalls Wilder that much. I was going to marry my dream man. I would have the white picket fence and the house full of kids. Did I mention I was going to be a writer. Writing was in my blood. I spent all my free time writing stories. I wrote the beginnings of my first novel when I was like the ripe old age of 11. And damn was it good.

Then life happened. I got married. I had a child. I never became rich...or even middle class. Hell I don't even think I qualify for poor. My white picket fence turned into a nice little mobile home that needs an assload of work. And if you count Brat's personalities and friends that are always here, I did get my house full of kids. I skipped the baking cookies after school because honestly it's best for the environment if I don't venture too close to the oven.

But none of that saddens me. I don't miss what I don't have. I don't long for more most days. Of course on an occasional day I might think of how nice the perfect little house would be. But I'm content with my home.

But the writer part. That makes me want to cry. I devoted so much of my childhood and teen years to writing. To expressing all my thoughts in stories and poems. In preparing for the future I knew I would have.

Yet I never did it. I rarely find myself writing anymore. Not for lack of desire. It's for lack of time.

Then it hit me. If I can find time to sit on facebook and find out cousin Johnny is mowing his lawn....why can't I find time to write?

Truth be known...others took that away from me. They criticized every time I wrote something because I was real. And honest. And it touched too close to home. It made people angry.

Well screw them. I may not always be the most awesome person on the planet. I have bad days. But writing is what is real to me. So screw the haters. It's easy to say that since I don't think I've given them the link to my blog. But even if they find it, screw them.

Starting this week, I am finding me again. I am going to start writing again.

And when I have the money of John Grisham and Nicholas Sparks...lets see how they like me now.

I don't have a clue what I will write. But I will make time for it every day.

It might be nice if I started here huh?