The Next Generation

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My Monkey setting up for another day of arduous creating. Apparently this story was about Tinkerbell and the dog who sniffed flowers with butter.

My almost 2 year old daughter loves to draw and scribble in her Tinkerbell notebook. If you ask her about it she will go on and on about her work, usually yelling Bell Bell or talking about George and Minions in the few words you can understand. And at some point she will say ‘Like Momma’.

Like Momma, she carries a notebook just about everywhere she goes.(In fact, since her Happy Meals started handing out notebooks she may have MORE than I do). Like Momma, she sometimes only needs to scribble for a moment and sometimes she’s bent over the book for hours. Like Momma, she babbles somewhat incoherently at people if they interrupt her flow or she seems ‘stuck’ in her story.

A BIG part of me is proud that my daughter looks up to me, even though I’m sure that its mostly because she sees me all day everyday. I am proud of her creativity and interest in reading and writing. She isn’t quite 2 (we’re 3 months out from her birthday) but she is already fairly advanced (the hazards of her parent and grandparents all being teachers I suppose). I hope and pray that she keeps this curiosity and zeal as she grows up. That she retains the ‘weird’ and ‘quirk’ that makes up her joy right now and doesn’t let anyone tell her otherwise.

But do I want her to be a writer?

That is a tough question. I love writing. I adore putting my colored inks on blank paper and making the designs that pull a story from the air and my brain (same thing, right) and coalescing it in a form many will read. Most of the time I even enjoy the late night inability to sleep because I’m writing, or the jerking from a dead sleep at 3am because my subconscious finally figured out a piece of the story. I also make no money, have a tendency to block out people for days or weeks at a time while I write, get super mean if I can’t just sit and write when the mood hits me (not as much any more…toddlers tend to line out your schedule for you), and am usually tired from working on pieces when I should be asleep.

It has been said that writing is a lonely profession, except for the characters you make for yourself. Do I want my daughter to be lonely and listening to voices in her own head? Do I want her to wake up from a writing stupor and realize that she may have gotten fifteen thousand words written in a day and half, but she hasn’t eaten and hasn’t seen her friends in days? In the mind of a mother, do the pros outweigh the cons? I honestly don’t know at the moment.

The pros are worth more than any amount of cons in my life. If I don’t write I become irrational, erratic, and difficult to live with. Depression, anxiety, dark moods…they set in pretty quickly if I don’t have projects to think on and scribble out. My books and notebooks are some of my greatest joys, right up there with my kid and my flute. The lack of feedback and reviews on both my blog and my Amazon pages frustrates me to no end, but I wouldn’t stop writing for anything; I couldn’t. Do I want that kind of drive for my daughter….YES, YES I DO.

Do I want her to wind up a writer…probably not. But I suppose that’s going to be up to her to decide. Isn’t it?

 

 

Randomness: Lazy OCD

I have what I like to refer to as a lazy form of obsessive compulsiveness. Now, what I mean is that while someone with full blown OCD must do pretty much EVERYTHING in a certain way or for a certain number/amount of times, my issues are more focused on things that I care about and, of course, picture placement (really people, it isn’t that difficult to center items and make sure they hang straight!).

For example, my books and movies are painstakingly organized to my own system and I have miniature panic attacks if they get moved around out of order. On the other hand, my clothes are lucky to get folded and placed in the correct drawer after washings.

My flute and music are in order and well maintained, my pens and craft items are set up specifically, and my old notebooks and journals are lined up according to year AND content. I count the number of steps I take between oft traversed areas, the number of steps up or down anywhere, and I kiss my daughter three times, every time. However, my refrigerator is often an unorganized mess of forgotten left overs and unused fruit. (I do my best to fight my disorder…obviously I win sometimes).

Do you have pieces of your life that you must have ‘just so’ or you freak out? Do you obsess over things like that? Or do you have full out OCD?? What steps do you have to take each day so that you feel like everything is in order?

One thing I have to do now that I’ve started it, is to end posts with this blessing: May you have a Blessed Day and may your compulsions lead to great materials!

Don’t let that stop you from commenting with your own stories!