My brain and I have been discussing possible options for me to take my writing to “another level.” Now, it’s not as bad-ass as I’m making it sound- trust me. ”Another level” makes it sound like I’m going to do something so wickedly awesome- when in reality, taking my writing to another level is probably going to be as boring and simple as- ya know, trying to write more than once a week.
When I was in grade school, not only was I far more of an over-achiever than I am now (Teacher’s pet, anyone?) but I was a really good writer. Not even trying to bullshit you or toot my own horn, but I was pretty much a child prodigy. (Clearly, I have burnt out since then. woops. Sorry Mom and Dad!) For starters, I taught myself how to play piano when I was 5. After I got my first book and learned how to play “When the Saints Go Marching In” and “Mary Had A Little Lamb” and got a handle on where each note was located, I could sit and listen to a song on my Walk Man (ha!) and then play it on the piano. This went on for years. My biggest claim to fame was when the movie Titanic came out and I learned how to play that Celine Dion song. I refused to take lessons, and quite honestly, I didn’t give a crap about playing the stupid piano.
ANYWAY. My first grade teacher constantly bombarded my parents about how great of a writer I was. A few times a week, we’d have to sit and write a journal entry about something that happened- most kids wrote a paragraph. I wrote full on PAGES worth of whatever bullshit I could come up with. Whether or not that makes me a good writer or just really great at a) Bullshitting and b) rambling on (gee, sound familiar?), WHO KNOWS. But my teacher in fourth grade pretty much said the same thing. She was my favorite teacher and I would send her copies of my short stories and poems I was writing at the time.
Then I’m not sure what happened, but it’s as if all of my intellectual capabilities came to a screeching halt. In the fifth grade, my teacher (who was a huge bitch) ruined school for me. She had meetings with my parents because I “stopped raising my hand.” My fifth grade-self literally told my parents that I just don’t care anymore and I hated that teacher, so I was done trying to please her. It’s not like I became an actual idiot, I was just done taking the effort to raise my hand. I also never gave her my best writing, because I didn’t give two shits if she thought I was smart or not. Me not giving two shits has since then been my defining characteristic– for the most part, I do not actually give a shit what you think about me. Moving on..
Recently, this woman (whose daughter I have known since Kindergarten) wrote a book about her journey through adopting children. At first, I was happy for her. Then I realized I’m an idiot. “I’m adopted! Why the hell didn’t I think of writing my own damn book!?” When I told my dad, he had almost the exact same thought process. “Hey! You can write a book about that!” And so the wheels had begun spinning…
This is where “taking my writing to the next level” comes into play. Sure, I dick around on this blog writing about my eating and exercise habits, and for whatever reason, a handful of people read it from time to time (bless your souls.) My passion for food, fitness, and wellness oozes in the gym and in the kitchen and in my daily conversations. I try to do the best job of relaying that passion into my writings here on the blog, but I’d like to think that a majority of my time is actually done DOING instead of writing about it. Training for a half marathon, fueling for a half marathon, and going to school full-time while juggling two jobs and my best efforts at having a social life is not exactly conducive to me composing the most exciting blog posts. However, one day, that is a goal of mine. I’d love to host a blog that eventually evolves into a community of education, different ideas, problems, solutions, love, and support. Right now, my blog is laughable. And you know what? I’m okay with that.
However, I have a passion for writing in general. I’m obsessed with words and the art that words are capable of creating. There was once a time in which I would sit and write every single night. I had so much going on in my head that I needed to map it out and assess my life based on whatever words I could equate to whatever I was feeling. I’m not sure if this is the actual case- but I began running which has done two things:
1) taken up a butt-load of my time
2) allows me to clear my head.
#1 Definitely holds true. Training and exercise has definitely become one of the most important components of my day. I’m pretty sure #2 is true- except I usually feel like running makes me even more insane than I already am. I often joke about the insanity that roams my head while running- and while convincing myself to run and so on. In the same respect, it definitely helps me clear my head- besides my minimal education with respect to exercise endocrinology, physiology and so forth, I know that from a biological standpoint that yes, exercise is great for making one feel great- mentally and physically- but from a completely non-educated psychological view (AKA my own personal made up bullshit) I think that my brain is so tired from all the chaos that ensues when I run “(KEEP GOING YOU BIG BABY!!!” “ARE YOU GOING TO LET HER PASS YOU!? HAUL ASS!” I could go on- but I’ll spare you) that my brain decides to come up with less crazy antics to keep me up at night- therefore, leaving me with minimal stuff to write about. How true any of that actually is, I don’t know. The bottom line is that I feel like I don’t have time to write and that I feel like running (and lifting) has been extremely therapeutic for my crazy-brain. Nonetheless, I want to write more. I want to write more- as in more frequently. And I want to write more- as in more than just about the weird shit I eat and the stupid reps I complete and miles that I cover.
This little blog is a corner of the web-world that I’m already comfortable with. I contemplated starting another blog and separating my wellness-world from the inside-my-head-world, but after careful consideration- why would I do that? I used to have (and still do) private blogs in which I vent to myself about whatever the hell I want. But I’m serious about one day writing a book. (I also want to go to the moon- so we’ll see about all of this.) A book is a very public thing- anyone and everyone with a pair of eyeballs (and who is drop-dead bored enough) could read it. I would say that this is step-1 of 1,000,000 in the book writing process. Granted, the idea for the book I want to write would fall under the category of fiction based on truth (oh hey! I made up a book category! I think?) and what I’m going to write is going to fall under the category of “put Christina in a mental institution- she’s insane” AND/or “I can’t fall asleep, so I’ll bore myself to sleep while reading this crazy bitch’s inner-monologues!” Either way, I’m going to create a new tab at the top. I’m not expecting it to get any traffic. It’s just nice to know that people could read it if they wanted to- kind of like a book. Who says anyone would read it? But it’s out there if anyone wanted to.
Now I have to figure out how to do that…
If you made it this far, I owe you a cookie or something. =)