First, to remember how to write. Once upon a time in my (possibly inaccurate) recollection of the past, I was a pretty solid writer. Nice style. Witty content. Charming exposition. These days, if my subjects and verbs agree, I call it a victory. For sheer sake of needing practice, I have decided to commit to writing in this blog daily for the next three months. It shouldn't be that hard, right? Nearly all languages follow a similar syntax: subject-verb-object. Maybe if I'm feeling fancy, I'll throw in an adjective or adverb. But what shall I write about?
I admit, this is a problem that has long-plagued my writing. I mean, surely it must be vanity to think that anyone would care to read my random musings or daily happenings. Alas, I have had a change of heart on the topic. As my blog identity indicates, I enjoy claiming title as "official little sister" to Gracchii -- a wonderful friend and amazing scholar. Let's be honest, I may not share his zeal for history, but every time I sit to read his post, I'm prompted to think of something new or consider something familiar in a different light. Living an ocean away, Gracchii's blog and those of many others substitute for the long face-to-face conversations, until we can one day meet again.
Which leads me to my second purpose: I'm newly twenty-five years of age and pour la meilleure et le pire, feeling the "quarter life crisis" itch. For example, I've recently developed an unexplainable fascination with llamas. I've decided to document it, as well as use blog to hopefully encourage some structure and productivity to the crazy. I have been searching for a lot of answers, obsessing over movies, books, horoscopes, religion, and the like. I watched the (500) Days of Summer today. I haven't found a lot of answers. Every once in a while though, things do come along that move me. Today, this was it:
"The essay was the short version of a memoir I wrote during a rough time in my marriage because I needed that book on my bedside table—one which would speak to me from the trenches, letting me know that I could be powerful and even happy, especially in a crisis. Mine could be a different reaction than what we see so often in our society. I didn’t have to be reactionary. I didn’t have to play victim. I didn’t have to suffer. But I couldn’t find a book like that—a simple story of a woman’s journey that wasn’t specifically spiritual or self-help, but like sitting with a gentle friend who is willing to be vulnerable and share her world so we don’t have to feel so alone. I couldn’t find that book, so I wrote it. That’s what we writers do. We write what we know. We write for ourselves and we write to provide relief for others. We write our way through life, and in some cases, we write our way to life. That’s how it happened for me during that challenging time."
The quote above comes from the an author of a NYT article that I have been obsessed with for months. I may discuss in at some point in these three months why her article captivates me, but today it was her line, "I couldn't find that book, so I wrote it."
So, that's what I'm going to do too. I'm calling it the "Three Month Project." Why? Well, a corporate seminar that I recently attended instructed me that goals should have a concrete timeline, be specific, and be reasonable. My high school student council advisor once chided me for writing down as my goal for the year "to be happy." I still that was a douche move, but from a practical stand-point, he may have had a point.
Here it goes...
