Birthday Wish. (Paypal button enclosed)

Well, it's that special time of year again. That time when, everywhere I go, I hear the same thing from everyone I meet.

"Kendal, what do you want for your birthday?"

And usually the answer is Nothing. Your existence on this earth is Gift Enough for me.

Okay, it's not completely true. I am too old to be asked that, and I can usually think up one or two things that would be just nifty to have at any given moment. This year, though, it's not just a thing. It's an opportunity.

Lemme asplane.

When I grew up I wanted to be a writer, or maybe an artist. In college that was the main topic of most of my personal essays. How I want to be a writer but all my neuroses and hangups are getting in the way, because all I ever write about is me, myself, and I. I showed one such essay to my dad, who read it and asked me, "Well, if you want to be a writer, why don't you write?"

Yeah. Hmm. Good question.

Because even though I loved to write, I didn't. Not often. Whenever one of those essays was due, I let the deadline loom over me like a thundercloud, and fretted and whined and complained about how I SHOULD be working on it. This happened over and over and over again. It happened with every writing project I came across. Emails, letters, thank-you notes, journal entries.

So, in order to write more, I began to read more. Self-help creativity boosting writer's block breaking books.

Zen and the Art of Writing, by Ray Bradbury.

On Writing, by Stephen King.

Writing Down the Bones; Thunder and Lightning - Cracking Open the Writer's Craft; and Wild Mind, by Natalie Goldberg.

Steering the Craft, by Ursela K. Le Guin.

The Creative Habit, by Twyla Tharp.

Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott.

and with each new book purchase was a renewed belief that maybe this book will write a book for me. A ridiculous and unshakable notion that once I'd read what this writer had to say about the craft, there'd suddenly be a masterpiece flowing from my fingertips, money in the bank, and a deal in the works. Inevitably the time would come when the writing book would say, okay, I've told you all you need to know, given you tools, tips, and exercises, now go. fly. put pen to paper and create.

I'd say, "Okay, next!" and find myself another pretty paperback full of inspiration and writerly wisdom to read on the bus. Until I took Ariel Gore's book, How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead, out of the library. Immediately my bluff was called. Chapter One: Write. Gore brought up every argument a person can make to excuse themselves from having to try, and reading her words did a magical thing for me. I started to write. I wrote while nursing Edie, while going to the bathroom, while taking a bath. I wrote in the car and wrote longer and longer emails. Her advice led me to actually try to get something published, and I was surprised at how easy it was to complete a story in one day. All I had to do was banish the idea of perfection. Not too easy, but doable.

So getting to the point of all this, it so happens that Ariel Gore is hosting an online writer's workshop in September. The class costs 275 dollars, which is about 275 dollars more than I can afford, but that important little voice everybody's got told me I have to enroll. Ariel Gore has already proven herself able to karate chop a three foot stack of writer's blocks, and now I'm betting she can help me send my writing in a direction it wants to go. Can you help me help her help me? This economy has been tough on everybody I know, but if there is any chance you can and want to spare 10 dollars to send me to virtual writing school this fall, I will appreciate it forever!

(My birthday is next week)

:)