writing!

I want to write. I want to write!

Friends kept telling me to write every day, that the urge to write would come back. Now, my friends are wonderful people, but they do not understand the deep, intense, etc., torture that I live with as a writer every day. They do not know the ebb and flow of inspiration, the crashing and sucking waves.

Of course, I am an idiot, and they were right, and it only took about a week.

I want to write about our bread-eating mice. I want to write about being a murderess of fish. I want to write about my friends, and my family, and my very useless fear that I won't be able to publish anything about them until they're dead, because then they would know how I really felt about them all. I don't yet want to write my big essay for the MFA application, but I know what it'll be about -- and I'm ready to start thinking about writing it.

I want to be like Anne Lamott, faithful and snarky, writing about how bad and good everything is, and how to make the bad stuff good by changing your heart. I want to figure out how to change my heart.

But for now I'll just make a point to get this written down -- I want to write again.