Obsession

I have an obsession. I know what you are thinking and, no, i am not talking about Diet Coke. Not this time, anyway.

I have had many obsessions throughout my life. I was once obsessed with seeing every movie I possibly could (within reason, of course). I get a little crazed if I know there is a treat in my house. I think of nothing else till it’s gone. Usually in my own gullet.

Mel Gibson was once a victim of my obsession. I had a huge cardboard cut out of his head and a Braveheart poster on my wall. I woke up every morning to his bright blue eyes staring at me.

Until one day I met my own Mel Gibson. But this one didn’t smoke cigars or throw out racial slurs during a DUI. This one drove two hours just to take me out on a date. This one asked me out again even though I probably ate too much and wouldn’t shut up. ElRey completed me in a way on one else ever had and I am sure never will.

But this isn’t even about that obsession (I know, I have a lot!) I am getting there.

I was knee deep in college courses at the time and was loving writing. I have always loved to write. In fact, in elementary school I tried to write my first novel titled, “Daddy’s Little Girl”. It was a scary story and I had already drawn a cover for it. Needless, to say I didn’t get very far in that novel.

Back to my time in college, I was writing a lot and my friend Laurie and I would get together in the student center and share our work and deep conversation. I. Loved. It.

Then came ElRey. I wrote him a poem. It made him cry. It was one of the last ones I wrote for a long time. Sure, I wrote stuff in my journal from time to time but I wasn't paying attention to my need to write as much. He became my obsession. Making him happy, loving him, doing married people things {blush}, wondering when to start a family.

ElRey like to show the poem to other people and one day he shared it with his friend. This friend asked me if I was still writing and I said no, that I couldn’t think of anything to write and wasn’t taking the time to figure it out. His response, “Huh, I would think you would have a lot to write about, being in love and all.”

I couldn’t figure it out then. In fact, I wondered what was wrong with me-there really was a lot to write about but I wasn’t doing anything about it. I wasn't taking the time.

I have recently come to realize something, though. ElRey, our love and later our family became my poetry, of sorts, my writing, my craft. I’m not saying I am any good at it but I didn’t write it, I was living it. It was the deep discussion over an awesome dinner or sitting under the stars on a Floridian beach. It was giving birth to three beautiful girls and living through it. There was laughter that took our breath away. There wasn’t time to write it down!

The old/new obsession came(back) last fall when two things happened. I went back to school with my one literature class and I started a blog.

The class pushed me out of my comfort zone and re-introduced me to my love of literature and writing. It gave me structure and things to write about. It flexed my creative muscles that were sore from little use.

My blog had given me an outlet I didn’t realize I needed. It gave me an opportunity to express myself and put myself out there. Come to find out, people seemed to like what I was putting down and it fueled the flames that were building in my soul (oh, now that’s poetic!). I wanted to do more.

I started losing sleep over it, my house, children and husband were neglected. There are times when my sink is so full of dishes I can’t even fill my glass from the tap. I have even wanted to pass up social events to stay home and come up with something brilliant.

Somehow I have never forgotten to eat, though. Go figure.

In her book, Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg said,

“We are run by our compulsions. Maybe it’s just me. but it seems that obsessions have power. Harness that power. I know most of my writing friends are obsessed with writing. It works the same way as chocolate does. We’re always thing we should be writing no matter what else we might be doing. It’s not fun. The life of an artist isn’t easy. you’re never free unless you are doing your art. But I guess doing art is better than drinking a lot or filling up with chocolate. I often wonder if all the writers who are alcoholics drink a lot because they aren’t writing or are having trouble writing. It is not because they are writers that they drinking, but they are writers who are not writing.” (p43)

Although I am not a drunk(yet), I get what she is saying. I feel like I should be sitting in the corner of some cafe, drinking too much coffee, going from cigarette to cigarette, writing in a tattered notebook.

But here I am, sitting in my kitchen, going from cookie to cookie, Diet Coke to Diet Coke, writing crap until every now and then a small masterpiece comes alive (okay, over-exaggerate, much?)

I don’t even know if I can actually call myself a writer. I try to say it out loud but then I feel like I’ve just called myself a horse when all I really am is a jack ass.

My readers have gone up recently on here and I am humbled, awed and grateful. I am also panicking. I want you to keep coming back. I want you to tell your friends but then I think, what if I let them down and bore them to death??

I am trying to listen to that voice in my head, not the one the Dr. said I should ignore but the other one that tells me an idea over and over till I finally write it down. Sometimes (a lot of times??) I try too hard and then I am embarrassed by what I put out. So forgive me for those ones and please come back! I just might have a winner next time!