Why I Won't

I will never be a writer.

How's that for some positive thinking?

No, really. I'm a very realistic person. I'm not a dreamer. I don't play the lottery. I don't have huge expectations for my life. My kid's lives? That's different - they are going to save the world. But my life is simple, steady, reliable, and I very much like it that way.

To now completely contradict myself, I dream of writing something substantial. Pulling a story, creating real relatable characters in a situation that speaks to others. That would be awesome.

However. Writing takes time. And energy. And creativity takes more energy. And time. Oh yeah, and patience. I'm a stay at home mom with two toddlers. These are commodities I have very little of.

And yet, I still want to. I want to create something beautiful from a messy pile of stray words. But as I find myself posting fewer and fewer blog posts, I fear I may never have the time to stare at a blank white screen simply waiting for inspiration to strike.

I could never tell my husband that I've even considered such a thing. He's still wrapping his mind around my passion for books. Reading I enjoy, reading late into the wee hours of the night, I really enjoy. But what I really like is collecting and then looking upon shelves of books. Seriously, it's probably equivalent to shoe shopping is for other women. Take me to a library and I'm in heaven. It's the one place I think I get a glimpse of what it must be like to be a celebrity. You can just walk in and take whatever you'd like.

And how I would love to have my name on one. Or two.

But even this silly post took over 45 minutes to write and it's just dribble.

Where will I ever find time? So I won't. Can't.

At least not any time soon.