Writerlust

At the beginning of 2018, I resolved to read more books because my usually voracious reading habit had waned severely in recent years. I longed to start writing again and what better way to fuel the desire to write than to read? I'm happy to say, I stuck to my resolution and finished a whopping 33 books (at least, that's how many I remembered to document in my Read in 2018 Pinterest board), which are broken down into the following categories: 21 fiction novels 6 graphic novels (3 of which were compendium volumes) 6 non-fiction/research books I've decided to briefly review and reflect on the books I read this year because I discovered some authors that I'm now a huge fan of while also revisiting some tried and true favorites that are always comforting and nostalgic to read through again. I will try to go in chronological order, but no guarantee. I kept track of the books I read through pinning their covers on a Pinterest board. I intend to do the same thing for...

Last year was my first successful year completing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days to become an official winner of Nanowrimo 2018. If you've never heard of Nanowrimo, definitely check out their website: click here . Essentially, it's an online challenge to write 50,000 words starting on November 1 and ending November 30th. They also host "camps" twice a year to revise and edit existing works or to embark on writing challenges of your own. You may find yourself wondering, "But what's the value in completing a challenge where only you know you've won?" For me, I found value in Nanowrimo by taking part in the camaraderie and the community, commiserating with the other writers sweating and struggling and cheering you on. Turns out that in my hometown, Nanowrimo has a thriving following with write-ins going on all over the city and it's an exciting thing to be a part of. And so, I am already looking forward to 2019! I know it's now only July...

Age 0-10: 1989-1999 I was technically born in the eighties, but with only 10 months left in that most vibrant of decades, I missed out on all of the amazing music and culture. I fleshed out in the nineties, however, when boy bands were king and Leonardo DiCaprio was every young girls' future husband. I vividly remember loving Nsync and Backstreet Boys like my life depended on it. I remember sleepovers with hairbrushes as microphones and beds as stages, where we'd muse and debate over what our lives would be like in 10 years when we'd married our favorite Nsync or Backstreet Boy member (for me, Chris Kirkpatrick or AJ McLean, respectively). I also had a complete love of all things seventies' rock as a young kid. I would listen to cassette tapes in my parent's front yard ad nauseum, until the tapes themselves were warped. One of my all-time favorite tapes to crank at top volume (I'm sure to my neighbor's dismay) was the "Hey Stoopid" album by Al...

Periodically throughout every single day I find myself battling what are essentially panic attacks about my future. Where I am going from here is such a murky process in my head that I find myself more and more afraid of time's passage. Am I missing out on something important? Am I living life to the fullest? As an overweight, single, twenty-three year old woman who somehow manages to feel all alone in a crowded room of friends, the answer to that first question becomes an obvious and resounding, "No."  But why is that? What is holding me back?  I can't seem to put my finger on it. I can't seem to put my finger on anything what with alarms from my phone constantly leading me hither and thither through my life. I don't have any spark or passion urging me to live my life. I feel like I'm just here. I'm just going through the motions of each day, never feeling a single iota of any sense of purpose.  Is this depression? Is this a mid-l...

Originally titled: Pontellier I have an insane and urgent lust to re-read The Awakening...  Edna speaks to me in a way most characters never have. I feel a kinship with her, despite having never been married, never bearing children, growing up in an entirely different region of the United States, living in a different social class, and being of a completely different time period than she... However, she still speaks to me. I feel sometimes that I can speak back to her, she nods and understands my pleas. But she never responds. I can only read of her life, fictional as it is, and wonder what I would do in her dainty shoes. I wonder if she wonders the same about my well-worn sneakers or grey ankle boots... Perhaps. I like to think she would.  Would she still walk into the ocean at the end?

This piece was originally written May 29, 2014. Breaking Up With Writer's Block It's time for you and Writer's Block to part ways. Write a letter breaking up with Writer's Block, starting out with, "Dear Writer's Block, it's not you, it's me..." ____________________________ Dearest Writer's Block, It's not you, it's me... I know it's cliché as ever to say that, but that's what you've brought me to... over-used clichés, similes, and metaphors... I've been reduced to tired old writings that have no spark, no imagination, no drive, and definitely no passion. I miss our passion, Writer's Block, what happened? I feel like you've become this hulking shadow in my life, draining me of energy, draining me of time, and draining me of lust. Yes, lust. Writer's Block, remember when lust drove us to late nights in our bedroom, the glow of the computer screen and the soft rhythmic tapping of fingers acr...