To do.

One of the things I have aspired towards most in my relatively short, inexperienced life, is writing a book. I read like a fiend, and feel that it would only be fitting if one day the book people hold to their chest after reading, breathless and in awe, has my name on it. Or my fake name at least. But I certainly have my anxieties. My written word is definitely not ready for the eyes and ears of millions (ideally assuming that it would hypothetically and hyperbolically reach millions). In fact, I find myself shy-ing away from the occasional curious blog-reader who's interested in perusing my blog! What is wrong with me? You'd think after studying English all through college, writing somewhere around 150 papers (this, unlike my previous statement, is not hyperbolic), and reading hundreds of books, I'd be confident enough to share. But nope. Cat named Insecurity got my tongue.

But, nonetheless, I find myself dying to write a book. I have a few ideas in mind, which I think would be rather riveting (if I do say so myself), but I'm afraid that each of them would manifest into a borderline elusive read where you never know wtf to make of anything. Reminiscent, perhaps of Kundera's Laughable Loves, or Winterson's Written on the Body (on an even more quixotic note...). I love (understatement) both of these, but damn do you have to read them over and over and over to get the point.

On the other hand, I have no doubt that my future novel would turn into some sort of a pink and fluffy girl-fest. I can only hope and pray it doesn't, but let's face it... I'm a girl. And not just am I, my literary "voice" is so undoubtedly a girl, that flowers fall out of the tip of her pen. And this, to me, is dangerous. Because although chick lit novels are a woozy to read, their literary value and the level of intelligence required to write them is questionable. And let's face it, although it's my dream to write, and although I shouldn't care if people ever want to read my novel, I absolutely do. What's the written word if nobody is there to read it?

So here, behold my predicament. But I will write a book one day. Watch me. And when I do, I'll let a few of you know, and for the others, you'll know when you read a florid poetic-prose book that makes no sense :)

Adieu!
A