Day 2

I haven't even gone downstairs for coffee yet. While I slept really well last night, I did wake a few times and this blog was bouncing around in my head. Before I turned off my light to go to sleep, I was reading my newest book purchase, "Writing Life Stories" by Bill Roorbach with Kristen Keckler. The book is a revised second edition subtitled, "How to make memories into memoirs, ideas into essays and life into literature." Years ago, when I first contemplated writing anything, I thought of penning the memoirs of three women I knew-each who had lived difficult lives and had overcome adverse circumstances. My husband bought me a little digital tape recorder for Christmas so I could record conversations with the three, but I never figured out how to use it and didn't compose one line on the topic. To this day, I still feel guilty whenever he mentions the tape recorder.

I've often had the notion to write about my own personal circumstances, but didn't think they would be interesting enough reading. I believe there are no coincidences, and finding this book seven or eight years after my initial memoir idea has helped me to kick start my writing. I don't yet know if a memoir is in the picture, but I think the blog is a good attempt at beginning something.

As excited as I was to find this book, I already have problems. Hesitation, doubt, and the biggest--- time investment. While Bill seems friendly enough, (I hope he doesn't mind that we're on a first name basis) he's also a task master. Every chapter includes a number of exercises that he expects the reader to accomplish. One of his first, and most off-putting for me so far (I've only read 22 pages) is his prerequisite that we read every day. As I am obsessed with books, I didn't find that to be an issue until I read a bit further. The daily reading cannot be pleasure or easy stuff like magazine articles. He specifically calls it "hard", meaning literature that I would never even consider. I do not like that word-hard-in any context, unless used in conjunction with hard body. The word gives me unpleasant feelings and makes me want to run away. That particular "exercise" has been lurking in the dark recesses of my mind, haunting me for the last few days. And as if the "hard" part wasn't bad enough, he wants me to read one hard book per week. My pleasure books take at least a month as they are the last thing I do before I go to sleep at night and can only get in a few pages at a time before my eyes blur and close.

So now I'll need to carve some time into my already crammed days to find and read hard stuff. Goodie... Why did I decide to do this again?

Time to go look for something hard to read.