poor pauper of a gal

I’m thinking about starting a blog. Does this count as a blog?

I don’t like the idea of everyone I know being able to read my innermost thoughts but maybe I could have two places… Here for my private stuff and a blog for my more blog-like ramblings.

I really need to start writing more. I used to write all. the. time. when I was younger. I remember my grade one and two teachers finding me notebook after notebook to fill with my stories and thoughts and getting all kinds of awesome marks and stickers and praise for my efforts. I won a lot of writing contests. I won a lot of money winning writing contests. Pretty impressive for a kid under 10 years old. It continued from there too. I loved writing a lot. I was always at the top of my class. Ideas just poured out of me. Writing was cathardic, a release… a way to dream myself out of the tiny town I grew up in.

But I started having troubles with it when my grade six teacher pretty much reemed me up the ass because I wasn’t concise enough for him. True as it was that less can be more, something changed in that moment for me. He could have tackled the issue more tactfully, diplomatically, with more understanding… I guess I’ve still got a bit of resentment about that. How sad is that?

When I got into high school and depression hit me, I found that writing was the thing I struggled with that was most bothersome to me. I couldn’t think of the right words. I was never happy with what I’d done. Nothing came easily. Nothing flowed. It was always stressful, last minute writing because I *loathed* the writing process so much.. Before, I could write (literally) an award-winning essay in under an hour without much thought… after, it was like pulling teeth.

Then there were issues with my OAC English teacher who was a pompous, self-righteous figment of his own imagination and who severely favoured the so-called "in" crowd. He talked out of his ass the majority of the time. I have no respect for that man. I had to work my ass off in that class to get a passing mark and I was by FAR one of the top three writers. I despised that class. And I had two with him that semester. Oh what a wonderful joy that was. Is it clear yet that I don’t like the man? Thought it might be. And I hate "Heart of Darkness" too. Forever hate. Hate hate hate.

Anyway, I haven’t ever regained that je ne sais pas I once had. And I miss it.

I used to carry a notebook around with me all. the. time. when I was younger. I would scrimp and scramble for any spare minute to write whatever story was in my head. I remember hiding myself at the back of the stage during intramurals in the gym and writing my story. Sometimes I would share with a couple friends… When I was older I would write in my journal – a duotang hidden under my workbooks – in class when things got boring or thoughts wouldn’t leave my head…

I used to want to write a book. A novel. Some sort of autobiography. I had a ton of ideas. A ton of dreams. Now I wonder why the world would ever want to read what I write. I’m sure I won’t be original or unique and that other people have written the exact same thing a thousand times already and over a thousand times better… Sure, maybe I was a good writer once… Now, I feel average. I don’t believe.

I really want to write a blog about my wedding planning adventures – when there is a wedding to plan. (It’s coming, just not soon for this poor pauper of a gal). I would want to link to it from my weDsite of course so that my family and bridal party could read it. Problem there is that I wouldn’t want specific people to read it… ie, MIL or BIL or anyone who would talk to them LOL. I cannot see how I won’t want to bitch about them through that whole process. A process I’m loathing for that reason – but looking forward to for every other. On the other hand, I may be able to use it to my advantage… hmm…. *sigh* oh well, who knows. Too early to think about that yet.

Got enough to worry about these days.