Reddish Musings

I want to write something. Is that a problem? It feels like it is. Especially since I haven't written anything in years. Years? I can't remember putting pen to paper in a creative fashion since the beginning of high school.

Granted, I guess blogging counts, to some degree, as "writing," but it's so very self-involved compared to where I want to be. I get tired of writing about my introspection, my personal issues, my growth and development (which soon turns into failure and starting over). I'd rather write about those things behind the veil of a fictional character. That's what the pros do, right?

I think most of this comes from my husband's Creative Writing class. Listening to and reading the stories people write (poorly) just sparks all sorts of different worlds and ideas that I want to explore. But I don't know where to start.

I won't let that keep me from it, this time, though.

I told my friend the other day that I feel like I've let myself be mediocre too long. I've let myself hide. That has to stop.

No more hiding. No more fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to anger. Anger leads to... Lordy I spent this weekend doing far too many nerdy things.