The year after Jesse was born, I seemed to go into a frenzy of scheming. I launched my business, put together a gift book, and developed a few product ideas that I still believe would make us millions if someone with a little business know-how ran with them. Oh, and started this blog. Now, even though I still have a baby who nurses frequently and sleeps irregularly, I’m again jonesing for new projects. I guess once the baby-cooking is over, I’m on the lookout for other ways to be creative.
I pretend to be a person who, given the opportunity, would keep a perfectly clean house and peaceful, orderly life. But the truth is that whenever the pressure lets up a bit I get antsy and go in search of something more. Foster kids or new jobs or, if all else fails, new slipcovers. Home and family remain my main gig--an engrossing, demanding, fulfilling one. And I'm a bit suspicious of women who constantly justify self-indulgences in the name of feeding their inner fire. But sometimes I feel the need to stretch my view beyond the front door.
So a few weeks ago I sent out a plea for friends to form a writer's group with me. And two smart, creative, empowered friends took the bait. Last night we met to describe the writing projects we'd each like to work on. We agreed to post progress updates on a google doc once a week and meet once a month to report and offer advice.
I’m really, really, really excited about this. I drove home last night whooping for joy. Saying that I want to be a writer feels lame, narcissitic, and immature on the level of saying I want to be a movie star. But I do want to be a writer. So this year, with the help of my writer’s group friends, I’m gonna do it. So there.