So I've gotta own up to you, dear readers. I started this blog in a fit of envy and jealousy.
I will explain, in that order.
For a very long time, I've been envious of my writer friends. Characters, scenarios, plot twists, all seemed to flow from them like CO2. Even though I know that's as false as anything, it still seemed that way to me. Blogging has always come to me that easily, but not so much "real writing." You know, things I could put in a portfolio, or list on a resume. Exactly one complete, original story has emerged from my brain.
It was a one-act, back in college. It was terrible. It also took me almost all four years to finish the damn thing.
So now I have this blog, and I even know, however loosely, what I want it to be. Thanks to that, I know the writing will come more easily. I have direction, and a format with which I am familiar. I no longer have an excuse to be envious of my friends who proclaim themselves "writers."
So then, there is the jealousy.
Ever since I met my boyfriend and the coworkers he was with that night, I have been aware of how little I have accomplished in the two-and-a-half years since I got my degree. (Yes, my fellow graduates of The Class of 2004...it's been that long.)
Merely hanging out with people in publishing is one thing. When you're single, you're still treated as an individual when new people are introduced to the group. This becomes, shall we say, less true when you become So-and-so's Girlfriend. As such, I have become extremely jealous of that which is me.
I can be witty. I can be charming. I can even be knowledgeable about the corner of the publishing world my boyfriend and his corworkers inhabit. However, at the end of the day, after the meet-ups, the hang-outs, and the cocktail parties, I am still, ultimately, So-and-so's Girlfriend.
So now, I also proclaim myself Red Stapler.
Here. Have some raisins.