blockage

Im having a difficult time writing today... probably because my sister just found my little blog and i know now that she could be reading this at any time... which makes me extremely self conscious... but ive got to write today... i promised myself a long time ago that i would keep writing on here to get my juices flowing and so thats just what ill do!

Ive wanted to be a writer since i was 6 years old.

I can actually remember the first book i read... "black bear black bear what do you see" i was in kindergarten... it was play time or something god knows but i remember everyone grabbing blocks and sticks of play doe... i walked up to the metal book holder and pulled it out.

I dont remember if i was able to read the whole book at the time, i was only 5, but i remember loving the feel of the book in my hands... the smell of it when you cracked it open. Even before i could read the words to the books i held, i still loved to hold them.

I remember how the rest of the world turned into a buzzing hum in the background and the words started to fade into the background too.. i was still seeing them but i wasn't, instead i was seeing the heroine, or the hero, the rooms they were in, the views from the windows, i was feeling fear or happiness or love. I was no longer in my bedroom with a nightlight on.

I wanted to do that. I wanted to paint a picture with my words and bring people into the rooms of my imagination. I wanted to tell stories like the ones i was reading.

For my 7th birthday my mom bought me a diary...The Secret Garden themed diary. I remember it exactly.. green hard cover, the image of a gate on the front and a gold lock and key. The pages had lines that were double spaced and room for dates.

Everyday i wrote in that book. I wrote about things going on around me, i wrote about how i felt and what others said, but i didnt write a story like id always wanted to. I began to write poetry, first for school, then alone not for a grade but just for me. It allowed me to be abstract, not so literal.

Then i attempted to write my stories but it ended up being harder than i expected... they were always falling flat, or they werent deep enough, they werent strong enough, the details were either too much or not enough.... the story line would get lost and i ended up feeling like a cat caught in a ball of yarn... i couldnt weave a tale... just a mess.

But all the while i kept reading... in love with the words and the stories... and jealous of all the people who could open their mind like that...

I ended up kind of giving up. I write on this blog but thats it.. this is the medium i feel comfortable with.. Ive tried to write the mini movies going on in my head but i end up embarrassed, the dream became laughable to me..... that even this love is unrequited.