Hmmm...

I want to write a novel. I have so many ideas: a girl who has quasi-psychic powers via a conduit who happens to be a teenage orphan has inherited her father's run down farm and must not only turn the farm around but solve her father's suspected murder! Or, a girl who has always been a bit of a loner, has never known love (or at least never received it from someone else), and has lived in the same old house her entire life (though her parents have since retired, moved... twice, and eventually passed away) and in addition to being an artist dabbles in basic earthen magic... she has a side business... as a matchmaker.

And I'm sure several others, hidden under the skin of my fingers waiting to get out... but how do I put what I see and what I can feel into words? How can I describe it so that those things that make the story so special to me... make the story special to the people who read it.

Maybe I have trouble emoting? I mean, I have no trouble being angry or happy or excited and I'm getting better at being girl-y (these things are seen as strong emotions... having strength aren't they? Even being feminine is a sort of strength), what I can't do -at least with any ease- is share bits of myself. Because of course all my heroines are myself... versions of myself or how I wish I were and who I wish I were with.

God I wish I could just be open and not scared of showing too much. And stop worrying about what others think and just do what I imagine doing in my head. I'm such an idiot sometimes.

A dream

I have this reoccurring image in my head, like a dream, of two little girls in pretty white dresses playing in a stream. Their hair is brown but glinting strawberry blonde in the sunlight that dapples through the green leaves of the forest. We're all in a clearing of the forest where the stream is shallow and gliding slowly over large smooth stones. Wherever the sun hits the water light sparkles off the surface and reveals glinting silver fish that swim around the older girl's ankles. It's warm - the air, the water, the grass on which the baby sits. She looks about a year and a half, burbling and laughing at her reflection in the water. The older girl is 5, maybe younger. She's standing in the middle of the stream watching the fish and the water and the bits of fluff that float on the surface. There are bits of fluff in the air, twirling around them lazily, illuminating as the pieces drift through each shaft of light. Everything is bathed in a rich gold as if its dripping in honey, everything smells fresh and light and warm.

What happens

What happens when the ambition I always thought I had doesn't exist? What happens when I have so much I want to accomplish but haven't the inclination to start working? What happens when I'm not qualified to do anything I want to do... and all the other jobs are taken?

I can't live here anymore. I'm bored. I need to work. Who said it that we were made for work and must work for some reason or other? Maybe no one said it but it has got to be true. I have to do something or I'm going to go crazy!

A list of things I like and could do for the rest of my life so long as I have someone or something driving me:

Sewing
Painting
Photography
Babysitting
Swimming
Reading fiction
Talking
Acting
Being active
Being outdoors
Helping people who deserve it
Listening and giving advice
Learning
Math (but not anything major involved)
Horseback riding
Interacting with animals (but probably not cleaning up after them 24/7)