During Christmas Break, I had what I thought to be an ingenious idea. Not what appeared to be a feasible idea, of course, but an exciting one nonetheless. Now I like reading, and I like writing, so I thought to myself, "Books, novels, I love 'em. I've tried my hand at reading them and have thoroughly enjoyed it thus far, but not once have I so much as dipped my toe into the pool of actual, full-fledged, big-league book crafting. So I may as well start now." I believe those were my thoughts verbatim. Just kidding. Kind of.
Anyway, I am one of those people who takes a thought or a potential endeavor and runs with it. No; I literally run with it. I do my best thinking while running, and I am always grateful and eager for the opportunity to let my chaotic mind relieve itself for a bit, to let my stifled thoughts flood on out, to settle into a stride both literally and figuratively, to allow my worries and wonders to take a number and wait patiently for my peculiarly refreshed mind to attend to them one at a time. But that day, I was all too consumed by the glorious prospect of a book. A book of my very own. And in that run, I decided that it was a lovely idea, logistics aside because, well, who needs logistics?
Now I am blessed to have parents who are not very keen on the growing trend of scoffing at the hopes and dreams (no matter how impractical or unattainable they might be) of their children. Generally, if I am ready to be totally invested in a project or a goal or a plan, so too are my parents. Let's just say, they've mastered the art of the good kind of "jumping on the bandwagon." So, I told them about it. About my intent. About my longings to actually publish. About everything. And they simply agreed to it. And I cheered.
The book is currently entitled Good, Better, Beth. So far, it seems as though this title will be sticking around, but I guess I'll just have to wait and see where the book takes me. You see, I like to think of it in the sense that as I am writing the book, it, in turn, is writing me. I have a broad concept of where I'm going, but not necessarily how I'm getting there, and to be completely honest, this fascinates me. It adds such vivacity to what could be a tired writing process. Plus, what better time to write about teen life in all its unadulterated absurdity than when I myself am I teen? So I knew I had to get cracking.
I won't say much other than that Chapter One is officially complete. The story centers upon a certain Beth Benson. It's fiction. With little hints of non-fiction sprinkled in. The non-fiction portions being a direct reference to myself I must admit. I like the idea of leaving the readers guessing which is which, which is real and which is merely more of my untamed thoughts. And never fully knowing. Beth is different. Oh yes; that's for sure. And she is quickly discovering that any attempts to blend in are in vain. And that's okay. I guess you could call her weird. But she's surrendering to that fact. To the fact that high school will never be her forte. To the fact that even her most commendable attempts at raw, invigorating adventure turn out to be pretty lame. Will it include cliche teen angst? Oh, you betcha. But it will be done tastefully and kept to a minimum, I promise. In a sense, it's an attempt to give the avid users of #foreveralone hope, a solemn plea to stop feeling sorry for themselves for one measly minute and to enjoy the finer things in life. As awkward as they may be.
Updates to come.
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