I am deep in my head these days, not in a dangerous way, but so much so that writing about it falls by the way side. 

I have a lot of things to consider and ponder and I shyly mention one of them here because I need feedback.  I have been asked to write a book.  I have been challenged to try to become a writer and not just someone who writes. 

I am not sure how I feel about this.  I tend to balk when it comes to committing to things – people, jobs, places, life…you know.  I think a lot of it is insecurity.  The people who have been the most vocal about liking my writing are my mother…and well…she is my mother…and someone who turned out to be completely untrustworthy so his opinion is void. 

I made the error of giving family members that I am not close to links to where I write to get their feedback and the crickets are still chirping.  W won’t respond one way or the other as to what he thinks about what I have written which means he doesn’t care for them. 

So…do I attempt to fail? 

I am not sure how many people who frequent this blog also check out the other writing I do, but if you are of a mind to, please weigh in with your 2-cents. 

The thought of writing a book is why I haven’t really been writing at all right now.  I have been thinking of what I would write if I were to write something that was more than a short story or an essay.  It is there, spinning around, weaving itself and I have been afraid to let anything else hit the page.

I have been researching publishing, how to submit manuscripts, as I don’t want to count too heavily on help if I actually follow through.  I figure it is best if I do pluck up the courage, to do it quietly and on my own.  It is the way I have done everything in my life from learning to walk, to riding a bike, to getting divorced. 

Being so lost in my own head, realizing I have always been someone more at home in my internal life and even at my worst being someone who is comfortable in my own skin, I have been jarred out of my introspection by an article on Hulk Hogan’s son.  Yes, Hulk Hogan’s son, Nick Bollea. 

At the beginning of the week his request to be moved out of solitary confinement was denied by a judge.  I had to re-read it.  He wanted to be moved out of solitary confinement because it was causing him too much anxiety.  Being alone caused him anxiety. 

I just don’t understand.  Being with other inmates would cause me anxiety, not being alone.  It got me thinking about Paris Hilton and I hate when that happens.  What it made me start to wonder is – is it being in jail that causes all the anxiety or is it the forced introspection of solitary?

Are these two kids the way they are because they can’t stand to be in their own skin?  When forced into a situation of confinement where they are alone, left only to their own thoughts, they buckle.

I try not to turn too much of my thought process over to it but it is there in the back of my brain. 

In a fit of optimism that I would not only read the books I ordered, but be able to pay for them, I joined Book of the Month Club and Quality Paperback Club.  Even though they are essentially the same company, I have joined them off and on over the years because they always inspire me to read outside of my comfort zone.

I tend to gravitate to fiction.  I love a great grisly crime novel or something weird and wonderful but it takes a little more to pull me to history or biographies.  It is not a lack of interest; it is a lack of attention span. 

One of the wonders of fibro is something they call “Fibro Fog”.  My short term memory is impaired as is my attention span.  I also have difficulty finding words.  I used to have a near photographic memory.  If I had seen it, read it, heard it, I could recall it and parrot back the information.   It was a running joke that I was a storehouse of little known and who gives a shit trivia. 

No more.  I will try to quote something and the words are floating in my minds eye, but they will not come out of my mouth.  I will start to talk about a book I read or a movie I saw and where I used to be able to recall minute details, now I am fumbling for the simplest of information. 

It drives me crazy.  I had all but given up reading when I found the complete letters of Vincent Van Gogh on Ebay and bought the set.  Let me explain. 

Years ago I had seen a really bad documentary about Vincent Van Gogh narrated by John Hurt.  While disjointed live images and pictures of either pencil drawings or oil paintings flickered across the screen, Mr.  Hurt read Vincent’s letters to Theo.  From that moment on, I knew I wanted to read all of them, not just the few the movie had used. 

If anything were going to get me back into reading again, it would be those letters.  I have gone through the first book, but haven’t made it through the rest.  My brain wanders and while reading never made me sleepy before, as I get such little REM sleep, when my eyes begin moving back and forth across the pages, I find myself roused a few minutes later having knocked myself out. 

All this to explain I have started reading again and have managed to stave off the narcoleptic like attacks long enough to finish a few books.  Armed with the same sense of accomplishment I had when I was 8 or 9 and finished my first book, I went shopping online for new fodder.

I got some James Patterson because I enjoy mindless violence.  What can I say?  For my fill of fluff I got:  How Starbucks Saved My Life by Michael Gates Gill, Marley & Me by John Grogan, The Life & Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson, Heart Shaped Box by Joe Hill and You Suck by Christopher Moore.  I also got the new David Sedaris – When You’re Engulfed In Flames and am awaiting it with near giddy anticipation. 

The other books I got are How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone – 10th Anniversary Edition, You, An Owner’s Manual, Gardening at the Dragon’s Gate.  The more I want to become a full time vegetarian, the more I crave steak. 

I awaited the packages like a kid on Christmas morn, ripping them open and going over each book as I removed it from the box, flipping the cover open and reading the first few pages just to say hello. 

I have the books stacked up next to the bed.  I am currently reading 5 of them and trying to keep everything straight but I suppose the bonus of the fibro fog is that where I used to be able to read a book and have full recall, I will now be able to read the same book over and over again with only the vague sensation that it is familiar. 

So…from thinking about writing a book to immersing myself in other people’s efforts.  I think I will slip back inside my thoughts and leave you to yours.