Jeanette Navia

Since I was seven years old, I've wanted to be a writer. Now that I'm fifty, and I have no books or stories published, I have very strong doubts that it's ever going to happen. When I graduated from college, I planned to work full time for rent money, and write in the evenings. My husband works rotating shift, so there are times now when I have hours on end alone, but there's grocery shopping, housework, exercise, birding, updating the Bird Club and Marfan websites, and Master Naturalist duties.

I signed up for a creative writing class with a local community center. In college, I took creative writing classes, one from Mary Gordon (at the community college in Poughkeepsie mentioned at that link) before her first book was published, and another at William and Mary with Parke Rouse. If I couldn't learn how to take the lessons they gave and write, I wasn't expecting a lot from the local class. I know I can't expect to attend a class and instantly learn to write great stories. I expected to get from this class structure, organization and inspiration. I wanted to attend a class each week and write assignments, a motive to make me actually produce some writing.

The class was canceled. Only two people had signed up for it.

Then I decided I'd take those two hours that I'd planned to be in class and use them to write. I'd go to a carrel in the library, read about how to write and write. I did this past week. I used a pencil and wrote unconnected sentences and paragraphs until my middle finger hurt. (I have no laptop).

But I just feel depressed when I get in these "I've got to be a writer!" moods. The task seems so incredibly daunting. The problem isn't with writing sentences, it's with structure, and with plot. I don't even know what I want to write. I'll have an idea but not have a full idea for a whole story: beginning, middle and end.

So I ask myself, why do I want to "be a writer"? Do I really like writing? Whenever I start, I just get depressed. So why not just stop wanting to be a writer? Why can't I just be happy being a reader? I love more than anything to read, and I don't usually get depressed when I'm reading.

It's hard to stop wanting something when you've wanted it for forty-three years. I think to myself, okay, I won't want to be a writer anymore. Then I immediately start thinking about writing a book about someone wanting to not want to be a writer after forty-three years. (Wouldn't that make a thrilling plot?)

I'm writing this blog entry because it's writing. It's boring writing, but it's writing. The rec center is going to offer the class again in the summer. Maybe then teachers off from the school season will want to sign up. It's expensive ($95), but maybe it could be a lot of fun (or an expensive way to get myself even more depressed).