Triumphant return

And so I return to the blogging world.

There was once a time when I wrote somewhat interesting things on a regular basis, but I got caught up in things- the usual excuse- and it pretty much just stopped. But now, thanks to a desire to procrastinate in reading about the connection between war, insect annihilation, and environmental destruction, plus a day packed with nonstop things to do of the non-homework variety, plus a little prodding from my crazy mother, I am blogging when I should be doing so many other things.

For starters...
I learned another something about myself today, and it is that I am easily inspired. Listening to Amy Tan speak tonight, I was so full of excitement and ideas and was completely riveted...and then she did this thing at the end where she played wistful Chinese erhu music and read a poetic passage from her book...and I was about to fall out of my seat for the feeling of sheer joy it made me feel. Yes, I am a corny person, but I know that that easy inspiration is what makes me able to write anything worthwhile. (It's cliche-- noticing the small stuff-- but cliches are cliche for a reason, right?)

Anyway, so I was inspired, but I also realized that there is a severe lack of fiction in my life right now. I was in an English class every school day for 12 years, and now I am in none. All of my homework is cut and dry definitions of democracy or extremely pedantic religious philosophy. Granted, there are some lively nonfiction narratives thrown into anthro, but they're few and far between and it's not quite the same as a book straight from someone's land of pretend.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this feeling exactly. Being a freshman, every time I go anywhere and get this inspiration, I'm so sure it signifies a new career path. One thing I can say for this is that I've wanted to be an author basically since I was born, not that I plan on making that my life's goal. It's somehting I'd rather have just happen if and when it's meant to.

Actually what it has also made me feel is angry at myself for not writing down every interesting thing that's ever happened to me, so that I can have that as an arsenal for further literary inspiration later on. I journaled for 6 solid months of this year, following through on a New Year's Resolution, but I lost 3 months' worth with the tragic demise of my computer 2 weeks ago, and I stopped writing in June because I just got too lazy. I'm always too tired or too busy or too whatever.

I just like stories. A lot. Hearing them, reading them, seeing them, feeling them, telling them, and making them.