i'm 24. twenty four years old. that's like 288 months or 8,760 days. Not that old, but when you break it up into months
and days it seems like a lot of fucking time. Now that we've established that I'm 24 let's see what I have to show for it:
-2 tattoos
-a bachelor of arts in english from Auburn
-an awesome dog named eddie
-a shitty job
-a shittier living arrangement
-a handful of friends
-a lot of memories
-a few regrets
-and a burning desire to make my dream come true
As you can tell, I have little going for me and as far as dreams are concerned, I have one and it's simple...to make a
living as a writer, not an author who has one book published and it sits on a shelf gathering dust at your local barnes and
noble...skimmed over as people reach for Faulkner. No, I want a magazine column. I want novels. I want a book tour. I
want to get burnt out because people think I'm so fucking brilliant. I want to get so burnt out that I givee it all up, buy
an apartmenet on the Champs-Elysees in Paris with a view of the Arc de Triomphe, have Harvard beg me to be a visiting professor
where I teach a summer seminar focusing on the works of my idols: Kerouac, Augusten Burroughs, JD Salinger.... That's a pretty
killer dream. So tell me? Why am I not doing a damn thing to make it come true? Oh, that's right because I have no confidence.
None. Not an ounce. Seems like most things I've tried at in life have ended in miserable failure. Seems like everything
i have wanted, I've lost. Then again, I can't think of another thing that I've wanted for as long as I can remember. I've
always wanted this. As a little girl, I wanted this. I didn't like dress up and I didn't chase boys around. I don't remember
wanting a husband and a house for as long as I can remember, like most girls. I remember asking my Mom to buy me a spiral
notebook and a pen wioth the four colors so that I could practice my short story writing. The pen had to have the four colors
because the ink choice would be symbolic of something in the story, the meaning. Red for love, black for something dark,
blue for sadness, green for happiness... Man I was a deep fourth grader. I loved the idea of being a writer. Always have.
Sitting in a corner somewhere, at a park, a restaurant, pad in hand, pen scribbling across the page, eyes watching, mind eager
to see what would come out next. I always wanted to be that girl. I remember writing how my heart felt for the first time
in eighth grade when my dog passed awawy and it felt so tragic and I couldn't think of a better way to express the pain.
I remember feeling better after having done it. I still have that piece. It still gives me the shivers; it captured the
moment, the feeling, the loss, perfectly. I've always devised stories of the people I meet and observe. Although not always
written, they were created in my head or whispered to my friends. My mind is constantly ticking, creating, yearning to do
this, just too scared to. Too fucking scared.
Isn't it a shame that a person can let fear hinder their only dream. Dreams are supposed to be what help you overcome
fear. Dreams are what are supposed to guide you through life. So many of my dreams have shattered me. This is the only
one I have left. This is the one I've had the longest. Do I keep pushing it away? Do I keep pretending that I'm okay with
mediocrity? Do I settle for fear or suck it up and admit that with a little bit of work I might be able to accomplish this?
More than might. I could. I can. I'm not half bad. I've never had a bad comment. You have to start somewhere. Somewhere
is here. In my bed, laptop balanced on my tummy, admitting my biggest fear, my strongest desire. Committing myself to pushing
the fear aside and making this dream come true. Someway, somehow, and somewhere I will be published. Once that happens,
I will work just as hard to do it again, and again. It won't be handed to me. Nothing good in life is that easy. Everything
worth having and loving takes work. Hard work. Everything worth having is usually based on fear, and when you can overcome
that fear that you can succeed. I will finally succeed.
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