When I was younger, I used to make up stories all the time. It was my goal to write the next "Great American Novel", something that would catch everyone's attention and have an impact on society (although I guess that isn't really the definition of "Great American Novel", seeing as how that can apply to 50 Shades of Gray, but I digress). I was always cooking up something new, always working in a notebook, carrying pens and paper in my bag in case I got an idea on the go. That slowed down after I got into my first relationship, and I'm not really sure why. Maybe I just didn't need to make up love stories anymore, now that I was living my own. Whatever the reason, I stopped writing. Sometimes I would still get ideas, but I would forget to write them down, and then the next time I would pick up a pen, I would have nothing to scribble onto the page. I didn't notice it for a long time, but when I did, I felt like I had lost a part of myself. I still think about it all the time, wanting to create my own world again.
In the past few months, I've actually come up with a couple of new ideas and taken notes on them. One of them sort of faded, but I came up with another idea today that took me by storm. I took pages of notes, and when I actually typed up my start excerpt, I have 818 words. I know that really doesn't seem like much at all, not even a standard sized college paper, but it's so much for me right now. I feel like I'm coming back to myself, like I'm home again.
I hope I actually keep up with this one and finish it, or at least get even a hundred pages, not for anyone else or even the hope of a publication, but just for me. Just to say that I did it, that I came back. That I got myself back.
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