Saturday, January 10, 2009

The fact that I'm 30 has led me to more moments of internal reflection. My life is in no way what I thought it would be when I was younger. If you had asked me when I was twenty where I thought I would be ten years later, the answer would have been something like "either a writer or journalist travelling the world" not "a retited roadie and current housewife". I went to college to be a writer. I took playwrighting classes and creative writing classes, in highschool I wrote bad poetry and edited the school literary magazine. Then I grew up. I graduated college and found I had nothing to write about. Turns out I'm great with writing for school, give me a topic and a deadline and I can write whatever you want. But in the real world, having to come up with my own ideas, I have nothing. That's why I went on tour in the first place. I thought travelling the world, meeting new people, the experiences would inspire me. It has worked for so many other writers in the past. Hemingway and Vonnegut were both inspired by their travels during times of war. Keroauc went on the road for his muse. I figured I needed to travel too. I thought I'd tour for a few years, writing in hotel rooms and on tour buses, until I had my great american novel or something worthwhile to leave for. Instead, tour took up all my time. No writing whatsoever took place, aside from occasional posts to this blog, usually which were more pics than words.

So now that I'm home, I am trying to write more. To start, I have started writing for a new site. Hopefully, this will get my creative juices flowing. We'll see.

Who knows, maybe I'm not too old to produce something original.

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