Bleeding Words and Filling Pages

I promised myself I would start writing regularly on this blog… regularly as in EVERY DAY write something… anything…

Once again I find myself at a loss of what to write so I’m just going to start putting words down and writing. I KNOW once I START writing, I tend to fill pages.

I tend to bleed words. Ironic.

Why is it so damn hard to start then?

Not so Random Thoughts

Over the past two days since I wrote my mid-life crisis time for a change post, I’ve been thinking of what I’d do if I could do anything… and the same two nonsensical things keep popping into my head.

They float in and out of my thoughts and turn up over and over again. They’ve been with me for years.

1. RUNNING.  I have absolutely NO CLUE where my obsession with running came from. I AM NOT GOOD AT RUNNING. I can’t run far. I can’t run fast. I can’t even run well. I have NEVER been a good runner. Had I been a good runner I would have been a better basketball player in high school and college. I would have run the court better. But I sucked at running. Running is damn hard. So why does the thought of being a runner play in my head all the time?

2. WRITING.  I find this one laughable. I have had this infatuation with writing a book for a very very long time. But just like running… I’ve NEVER liked writing either. I was not an English major and ran screaming from every writing class. I was a math geek. I was a computer geek. I double majored in both. I minored in Economics. Why no major in Economics? Because the remaining 300-400 level classes I needed to complete that major included WRITING MAJOR PAPERS. Terrifying! I was NOT a writer.

Infatuation with Running

I actually DID attempt to become a runner. Back in 2010, I posted about my first attempt at trying the Couch to 5K program. I say first attempt because I fell off the wagon after a few months but then I got back on and ran again in 2011 and then again in 2012. I ran my first 5K last year. I also ran a Mother’s Day 5k with my daughters in May 2012 which I thought I blogged about but I can’t find that post. I had been planning on running both of those races again this year, but in February I broke my left ankle in two spots. Cast for 6 weeks and then rehab which 6 months later I’m STILL working at.

Is my infatuation with running over because I broke my ankle? A sane person would think so – especially since I am NOT A RUNNER. I never had a habit of running nor am I a lifetime runner.

During the summer my best friend asked me if I wanted to sell my Garmin watch to her hubby who was running a mountain race. I said no.

“No? No? Why not? You aren’t ever going to run again.” Seems a perfectly reasonable reaction seeing that I BROKE MY ANKLE at age 41.

I told her I planned on running again. I was hoping to start up when the kids went back to school in Sept.

Well it’s now September and I’m nowhere near close to running again. Hell I’m lucky to walk 3 miles and I certainly can’t walk 3 miles every day. My ankle is not ready. Disappointing.

I am most irritated that my ankle still hurts EVERY DAY. It hurts when it’s starting a walk, during a walk and after a walk. It hurts in the morning getting out of bed. It hurts getting up after sitting awhile. It hurts at random times of the day. Frustrating.

But… just yesterday I was out walking with hubby telling him I want to run again. Hopeful.

Since I obviously am not ready to run right this moment – 6 months after the break – I am setting my sights on running in April next year. That will be over a year from the break.

I have no clue if that’s reasonable or not. But damn… running is still in my head. I really don’t know why. I can’t explain it. 

I just know that the only way to get it out is to run again.

To Write or Not to Write

I have no clue why writing is in my head. I am NOT a writer. But then I am.  Look at this post… started off as a “just start” and look at all these words.

I often do that when writing. I can write novels for e-mails. E-mails that I myself would skim over and never read all the way through.

I’ve had this idea of writing a book in my head for years…

I think the first time the thought became palpable was the day my Dad died. There is a story there. A story that’s needing to be told – demanding to get out. I’ve tossed it around in my head for close to 10 years now. I even have the opening sentence.

Have I ever written a physical word of that story? No.

I play the story out in my head. Write the story out in my head. But I’ve never sat down long enough to write the story down. I am not a writer.

I enjoyed writing a long time ago when I was in 8th grade. I was 13-14 at the time….almost 30 years ago. My 8th grade English class was all creative writing. We’d write stories. The teacher would give a prompt or idea or something and we’d have to write a story.

I don’t ever remember writing papers or book critiques or anything like that in that class. I don’t even recall reading a lot at that age. My kids read way more than I did when I was in 8th grade.

But I loved writing those stories. I wasn’t half bad either. More often than not my stories would be picked to be read in front of the class. Hated the public reading but the class seemed mesmerized by my stories. In fact I remember one day when the person who was reading after me said they didn’t want to go because they couldn’t top my story. The teacher allowed them to read their story the next day.

I think I saved some of those stories – maybe 3 or 4. But I have no idea where they are now. I was so proud of them.

My Dad was an avid reader. We had books everywhere in our house. Walls of bookcases. He read ALL THE TIME. And he’d write poetry. I don’t think he ever tried writing a story though. If he did I never knew.

My Dad had this way of judging you with and without words. He was a literary snob for lack of a better word choice.

I remember one time I brought home a Stephen King book from the library. I love reading horror and always have. My Dad flipped out. He never liked Stephen King and King’s books were banned from our house. Seriously. Banned.

I honestly don’t know why he never liked King. I don’t know if it was the subject of horror or what exactly. I have always thought King was a great character writer. He has a way of bringing his characters to life. You are on the journey with those characters in his books – horror or not.

Since I liked reading and writing horror and sci-fi type stories, to my 8th grade mind, it translated to my Dad never liking what I read or wrote; thus not liking me. I don’t remember ever sharing my 8th grade stories with him. I didn’t want the judgment or criticism. I would never read around him unless it was a book he recommended so it appeared like I never read.

So what happened to my writing besides my Dad?

Freshmen Honors English.

And the writing stopped.

It is ironic that the one person who made me fear writing and “being myself” is also the same person that may just give writing back to me. One day I may be brave enough to write the story of my Dad’s death.

One day.