I'm good to go and I'm going nowhere fast

I feel like my neglect of this blog coincides pretty perfectly with the fact that I have been taking poetry for the last two quarters (and writing one of my honors theses) and so have had no desire to do any writing that is not strictly necessary. Maybe I'll post all of my fail poems after this quarter is over so that you can read them. Maybe I won't. Maybe I will give up writing completely for a little (or a long) while.

I haven't posted my rant about writing and careers yet, have I? Well, I won't make you read it, but the fact of the matter is this: it's been fun! It really has. But I'm over creative writing/fiction writing/poetry writing (but especially fiction writing, dear god) for now, and I'm moving on to other things. Better things. I'll spare you all of my weepy thoughts about life and my purpose in it, but it's probably enough to say that I just...don't have what it takes to be a published author. I don't have the ambition or the intense desire to do so. I'm definitely not prolific enough.

There's no law that says you must be published by the time you're 30 or it's all over. Who knows what will happen in the future? But when it comes right down to it, I value my financial security too much to try to get by on temp jobs (or worse, as a college professor) while I write my ~dream novel. I'm the kind of person who has to put all or nothing into a project. I haven't yet developed the talent of multitasking.

And I'm definitely not getting my MFA. It's a valid life choice! It's just not the choice for me.

I feel almost as if I've spent the last four years waiting for some strange epiphany to come along and transform me into the kind of person who COULD make writing a career. Or the kind of person who has the discipline and the interest in pursuing his/her dreams of being a published author. Or the kind of person who can bang out a novel and still have the will to live afterward shop it around for publication. Or the kind of person who feels at all compelled to write. I wanted it REALLY badly.

But the fact remains that this epiphany didn't come and I am not the kind of person who feels compelled to write. I'm in this weird place where I want really badly to WANT to be a writer, but I can't get past the fact that...I don't want to be a writer. It's an odd feeling.

So maybe I'm too down on myself or too lazy, but it just didn't happen for me. Maybe it will happen when I'm fifty. Maybe I'll wake up one day and decide that I'm going to write that novel and that it's going to be a bestseller, and maybe that will be true. But for now, I'm heading out into the world for other prospects. I might move down to socal after graduation. I'll probably wander aimlessly for a while, trying shit to see what sticks. If I do end up going back to school, I might get my MBA. I like money. I like financial security. I know it's romantic and nice to say that money can't buy you love or happiness, but I think it's probably pretty difficult to find love or happiness if you're homeless.