Running with Scissors

I love to read blogs. I have a handful that I check every day. I don't like those that link to articles or go on about politics--I just want to read someone's personal journal. I want to get to know that person through their writing and I'm sometimes worried if a week goes by and there isn't a new post.

I also want to have a blog. To write every day about my hilarious kids, my troubles getting anything made or cleaned, the Artist and his art, my desire for a house, a baby and an MBA. So where is it? Where's the blog!?

I have a piece of a Starbuck's cup on my bulletin board at work. It's part of their series of quotes to make you think:

"When I began writing, the words that inspired me were these: 'A writer is someone who has written today.' If you want to be a writer, what's stopping you?" --J.A. Jance

So what is stopping me? It's not really lack of time or lack of stories. I think it may be unwillingness to take the risk.

I discovered this weekend that my grandmother, a professional artist, was not as good as her superior attitude would lead you to believe. She wasn't a bad artist, but the paintings she did for me are overly sweet, uninteresting and somewhat contrived. Was she unwilling to take an artistic leap--or did she just make the paintings she thought I deserved.

I don't want to burden my family with insipid writing or cutesy fabric art. I want to be bold. I want to bear my soul, be vulnerable, take risks. I want to run with scissors, metaphorically speaking. I want to write every day.

And today I did. So I'm a writer.