I ran, swinging my arms for momentum and running faster than I'd ever run before. Pushing forward through the forest and trying not to trip on the wayward roots of evergreen trees, I moved toward my goal. The rain was falling slowly, it was cold, getting dark and smelled of damp foliage disturbed by my pounding feet.

"Martin!" I screamed, "Martin! This isn't funny any more! Mom says you have to come home!" At that moment, panting heavily, my throat hoarse, I tripped. Some roots underneath me had taken the wind out of me, and I gasped on the forest floor. As I sat up I looked to see what I had tripped over, and that's where I saw it, a shoe and a leg sticking out from behind a bush. The shoe belonged to my brother, Martin.

What's stopping you?

The other day the sig other and I were talking and I asked him:

"If you could have your dream job, any job in the world, what would it be?"

He pondered a moment and responded, "a professional hockey player. What about you?"

I scratched my head and thought for a moment and said, "a writer."

At which point, there was a pause in the conversation and he said, "what's stopping you?"

Good point I thought. What is stopping me? Besides a lack of good ideas. I'm a voracious reader and I guess I am afraid that I'm going to end up copying something that's already been done. Seems like everything has been done, heck even JK Rowling and Stephenie Meyer have been accused of plagiarism (not that I would want to emulate Stephenie Meyer.. sorry Twihards, I thought the series was a bit of a train wreck).

Plus who really would want to read my writing anyway? But ah, the smell of fresh ink and paper warm off the printer beckon to me. Yet I still fall victim to the flashing of the cursor on my screen.

I was looking at old report cards a week ago. My mom has saved them all these years because she thought it would be fun for me to look back and read what I was like in Kindergarten and the earlier grades. She said that my report cards were a joy to keep because they were always glowing reviews of a precocious and knowledge-hungry child.

There was a theme in each one of the primary ones, which weren't so much a "report card" but more of a little write up on how my skills were developing. There was a common theme each year. A likes to sing, A likes to write, A likes to read aloud and act. Apparently in grade 2, the class was enthralled by a story I wrote about a 200 year old genie trapped in a chip bag. :D

Funny how we are defined so early in life and our likes and dislikes are so clear even then.

I wish someone told me that at 26, I'd enjoy drinking tea, crochet, and watching Coronation St. Basically, that I'd be an 80 year old granny trapped inside a 26 year old body. Ha.

I think as people what we really want in life is to leave some kind of legacy. Some people think of children as their legacy, some people think of good deeds, or donations, but I often think a good legacy to leave behind is a pile of good books.

If I could write a book, and even if it was the crappiest book ever, yet some generous publisher decided to pick it up, and just one person read it, and treasured it I'd be fulfilled.

Maybe I'm getting bored with my only tie to creative writing being business correspondence emails. *shrugs*

What's on the shelf?

Wow what's on the shelf still has no followers... oh well. LOL.

Not much new happening lately. Mostly deconstructing old memories, putting them into neat, compartmentalized boxes and storing them away for future reference when I am old and grey. Getting ready to start my new life as a Mrs. I suppose.

It's been pointed out recently that I don't have as much time left as I thought I did. So far, I have a guest list. Woo hoo. Hey. That's progress!