Like an old friend

Summer reading: Picoult, Kingsbury, and Gulley

I'm scheduled to graduate with my Bachelors of Science in Elementary Education/Special Education in December. Did I mention that? I am amazed that a task that has taken four years to complete is almost over - and I'm in one piece!

Of course, I still have to get through 16 weeks of student teaching.

But I'm looking forward to it. I am eager to learn new things from teachers who know what they're doing. I'm excited about picking up some really good ideas in real life (verses Pinterest) and implementing them in my own classroom (God willing!).

For the past three years, I've been in survival mode as wife, mother, paraprofessional and full-time student. I've been spinning these plates, trying not to let any of them fall and break. With the amazing support from my family and co-workers, I've done well. But there have been a few things that I've had to put on the shelf.

Aside from this summer, I haven't been much of a reader these past four years (unless you could online journals and textbooks - I don't). I've never worked in the summer but I've never been one to pick up a book and read it, either - despite my absolute love of books.

When I dump myself into a project, I do it with unbridled gusto and reckless abandon - often at the expense of other interests. For the past four years, my passion has been school work. I couldn't stop being a wife, mother, and paraprofessional, so I kept those things going. As far as other interests were concerned, however, I just didn't think about them.

My second passion is writing. But since starting school, the only writing I do is in the form of weekly, academic papers. My creative streak has waned.

I saw a brief spark when I participated in National Novel Writing Month back in November 2008 and successfully wrote 50,000 words of drivel by the end of the month. Is it any good? No! In fact, it's horrible and there have only been two people on this planet who have read it and I wish with every fiber of my being that neither of them had. It's very rough and not the least bit ready for human eyes.

But it is written.

I've been meaning to pull it out and edit and revise it - not to mention add to it (50,000 words is more of a novella than a novel). But I never have.

And as my academic career slowly comes to an end, I find myself letting small sparks of interest into my heart. It began this summer as I read book after book. Perhaps this is why the itch to write has started coming back - reading and writing do go hand in hand, don't they? (I wonder if King reads? I wonder who he reads?)

I think it's time to get that spark back. I don't have to create masterpieces. In fact, it is of my opinion that my blog posts over the past couple of years have gotten increasingly worse - I wrote so much better before I started writing every week for school.

I think I might like to delve into the world of NaNoWriMo. I have a story brewing at the moment that cannot wait until November. But I think I might use the month of November to devote completely to writing.

In light of everything that has happened over the past year, personally, it is time to grab hold of a passion and protect it as fiercely as I protect my marriage and my relationship with the kids.

It is time to find a little bit of me - a part that doesn't have a title or expectations attached to it. Just me. 
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