So for a long while now, probably a decade, I've thought about how my dream is to write books. It's funny what I see in my head. I see myself spending hours laboring over something I love, looking out the window, petting my cats. Out of the corporate spotlight.
As much as I've desired to write books over the years, I've always felt a block standing in my way. Not really a block, but more like a three foot thick concrete wall that shoots out of the ground and up into the sky. Can't go over it, can't crawl under it, can't go around it. Sort of like the Berlin wall, but my own personal prison.
I'm not sure why this is or what the problem is. But as I mentioned in my first post on this blog, I think I just don't know what to write about. The writing ability is on this side of the wall, but the creativity and ideas are on the other side. And for some reason I can't merge the two.
If I stop and really think about my life, I do still have these idealistic dreams of being a great writer. Publishing not one but many books, some receiving acclaim. A few affecting people in a positive way.
Me making my mark on history and leaving a piece of myself to humanity. Just as my favorite authors have done through their storytelling.
So I guess I need to hang on to that dream. But I do need to figure out what I'll write about. I need to find a topic close to my heart that will hold my interest, and that makes the words flow out of my fingers and onto the screen in an almost blind way, my brainwaves flatlined as the text creates itself.
It's a dream, and I hope I get there. We'll see where I go from here.
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