Pshh! I’ve done something bad, very, very bad! It’s downright criminal and certainly illegal.
I’m sure some people will say I’ve snapped like a twig during a long, thirsty, drought. Some will make excuses for me, “Poor thing! She had no other choice. Anyone would have done the same thing under the circumstances. You know she comes from a broken home.” Some people will have no tolerance for their excuses for my behavior or for my reasoning. “Crazy-blonde Girl! What was she thinking? I always knew she was a little unhinged. You could see it in her eyes, all green and beady!”
The truth is I did “SNAP”! I did go a little CRAZY, and I might be a tad bit, UNHINGED. I got tired of the constant browbeating, harassment.
“You’re not really going to wear that, are you? “
“You look hideous! Your hair is too long, your skin is too pale and when you walk, your thighs are so large, they sound like thunder over Louisville before the KY Derby.”
“What? Run a marathon? You can barely walk briskly without hyperventilating.”
“You want to write a novel? You can’t even write a decent short story.”
“Travel over seas? You will surely drink the water and DIE!”
So, I did what every self-respecting girl would do! I bound and gagged my inner voice and I stuffed her in my bedroom closet.
Gasp! ” You didn’t?”
“Oh Yes, I did!!”
Do you really have to ask? I needed her to see things my way. I needed her to understand my point of view and it’s the only way I could get her to shut up! Once my inner voice stopped all the muffled protests, I began to talk and she had to listen
Okay! So, I never had a date for prom. My clothes don’t always match. I occasionally get pimples and my thighs are larger than they once where, but I am not hideous. I did eventually get a date, and then a husband, and as far as my thighs go, they should be bigger. My body was invaded by human fetuses twice. I carried both children for 41 weeks each and gave birth to a healthy, bouncing, baby boy and a healthy, beautiful, baby girl. So, get off my back and thighs.
Alright, inner voice, I understand your concerns when it comes to me running a marathon. I know I am a little out of shape. I don’t hyperventilate when I walk briskly. I just breathe really hard, and, yes, someday I will run a marathon. Maybe not a full marathon, just a half. When I do, I will be ready. I will train and train, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. I will not hyper-ventilate or pass out from exhaustion, so why don’t you go run a marathon yourself and leave me alone!
I am 31 years old and I have never stepped foot on foreign soil. I know, it’s sad. Unfortunately, for me, I am afraid, No, terrified to fly! I grew up in the eighties and can remember several horrific plane crashes. I know my odds of being in an accident are greater in a car versus a plane, but I feel my odds of survival would be greater in a car accident versus a plane crash. Okay, I’ll just blame it on faulty thinking or Alanis Morisette. Remember these faithful words to her song ironic:
Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole d*mn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
“Well, isn’t this nice…”
And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think
I don’t wanna be ironic but there is so much of the world I would like to see before I die. When I am old and gray, bedridden in a nursing home and all I have left is a spotty long-term memory, I would like to recall the time my husband and I explored the Egyptian pyramids and the sphinx and sang “Walk like an Egyptian” the whole time. I need the memory of us outrigger canoeing on the neon-lit turquoise waters of Bora Bora Island to keep me daydreaming or the night we spent in Venice cruising along the Grand Canal passing under delicate bridges and by stunning palaces to keep romance alive and well in my aged heart. I need to fly, soon! So, inner voice be ready we will soar with the eagles and float with the clouds and I promise I will not drink the water. I will only drink beverages from an air tight can or poured from a sealed bottle, and I will get vaccinated. I promise inner voice, so you can either go with me or stay in my bedroom closet. It’s your choice.
Yes, inner voice, I dream of writing a novel. Yes, I am aware that my knowledge of writing does not extend past the general education requirements of College English 101 and 102. Yes, I have never enrolled in a creative writing class or participated in a writing workshop, but inner voice, I love, love to write. I know I will never pen a New York Times best seller. Anything I write will more than likely go unpublished, indefinitely, but the only way to NOT write a novel is to NOT write. So, I am going to write, and write and write and I will remember these inspiring literary facts:
It took American Author, Kathryn Stockett, five years to complete The Help. It was rejected by SIXTY literary agents before one agreed to represent her. Per Wikipedia, The Help has since been published in 35 countries and three languages, and as of August 2011, The Help has sold Five million copies and has spent more than 100 weeks on The New York Times Best Seller list. This tells me inner voice that rejection does not always equal “Your work SUCKS.” Do not let rejection bring you down and persevere.
So, I have not even written a short story, Stephenie Meyer had never written even a short story before Twilight. She had even considered going to law school, because she felt she had no chance of becoming a writer. Her only professional work was as a receptionist in a property company. Now, due to the success of her wildly popular Twilight Series, she has gained worldwide recognition and sold over 100 million copies globally, with translations into 37 different languages. She ranked #49 on Time Magazine’s list of the “100 most Influential People in 2008:, and was included in the Forbes Celebrity 100 list of the world’s most powerful celebrities in 2009, entering at #26. Her annual earnings exceeded $50 million and, in 2010, Forbes ranked her as the #59 most powerful celebrity with annual earnings of $40 million. Therefore, inner voice, what were you saying about my lack of short story writing?
“Now, inner voice, have you begun to see things my way?”
Muffle, groan. Muffle, groan.
“I’m sorry inner voice, but I am having trouble hearing you. Maybe I’ll just leave you in the closet, a while longer!”