Fairytale Books

Once upon a time not too long ago, I thought for sure my dream job would encompass photography. I do love photography… so much so that when I thought about selling my DSLR, I couldn’t go through with it. I felt some serious anxiety and sadness when I was about to list my camera on Ebay. I am so happy now that I didn’t sell it! *whew*

However, I know now that I don’t want to make money with photography.. at least not actively. A lot of people have told me to sell prints of some of my work, and I may set up a little shopping site to do that sometime. But, I love the freedom and relaxation of doing photography and not having to worry about pleasing a bride and groom or a family or a business… or anyone but myself. And for that reason, I don’t think it will ever become a job for me. I mean, let’s face the facts here. In general, I hate people. I am a recluse. I know now I am a born writer. ;)

More so though, photography doesn’t give me the simultaneous thrill and contentment I feel when I’m writing. If I were to think back on when writing became such an important part of my life, I couldn’t really pinpoint it. All I could tell you is that I was an avid journaler since I was a child. (I’m not sure if journaler is an official word or not, but I’m using it!) I always had a journal throughout childhood and loved writing out my thoughts and feelings. I also wrote little short stories and silly poems. I remember being big on haikus.

And then the world wide web opened to the public, and I discovered blogging. I have had so many blogs throughout the years… kind of goes with the territory for a gal who loves changing things up and journaling.

Brewing under the surface though has been another desire. A terrifying desire. An undying, all-consuming desire. That desire is to write a novel. I’ve written snippets of one on and off for the past decade but have yet to finish it. Life throws me for a loop. Other ideas for other stories distract me. Fear consumes me. I just need to commit. I need to want it. I need to let this novel consume me.

Committing myself to writing a novel terrifies me like nothing else. I don’t want it to be shitty. I don’t want to tell anyone I’m writing one because then I’ll be held accountable. (Which is why I’m telling everyone!) I don’t want to fail at this like I feel I’ve failed at so many other things in my life. In reality though, I haven’t failed at anything. I’m a Generation X-er. We don’t fail. We just try a bunch of things. A lot of us are late bloomers. A lot of us are lost. We wander. We get bored. We dabble. This is what we do until we hopefully realize the thing that challenges and scares us the most, and then we do that very thing.



*The books in the above image:

The Girl Who Circumnagivated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne M. Valente

Faery Tale: One Woman’s Search for Enchantment in a Modern World by Signe Pike