My Dirty Little Secret

I've got a secret to share—I fantasize about writing. When I'm away from my computer, I think about all kinds of topics to blog about, and I make up stories and poems in my head. And in those moments, the thoughts flow, the words dance on the page, and before I know it, I'm on The Daily Show pitching my first best seller. I banter with John Stewart, I'm quick witted, the audience laughs, and I'm invited back as one of his favorite guests.

As I head home from yoga or grocery shopping or lunch with a friend, the creative thoughts swirl and fantasies of being a wildly popular author make me giddy. I can't wait get to my computer. But then something terrible happens—I get home. It's an odd phenomenon, but every house, apartment and hotel room I've ever stayed in has a magical barrier called "the front door." The door itself is easy enough to spot, but the mystical boundary it conceals is invisible to the naked eye. My physical body passes through easily, but as I cross the threshold, all creativity is zapped from me as if the outside world is the nirvana of creative inspiration while the house itself is a creative black hole.

Once inside, I still want to write, but in a more abstract way. The words that flowed so perfectly in my head just an hour before, now seem all wrong. And the stroke-of-genius plot idea doesn't seem so genius after all. I decide to do the dishes and put in a load of laundry. I have papers to go through and dinner to prepare. Distractions abound and I make full use of them. When I finally open my computer with all good intentions of writing, I take just a quick peek at my e-mail, and then...shweeeeesh! A sound not audible to the human ear and evidenced only by the fact that hours have past by reading e-mail and watching YouTube videos. At best, I might have written a clever comment to a "Friend's" Facebook post, but my fabulous creative surge and fast-track writing career are postponed until "tomorrow."

I know my little secret is not quite as salacious as being a sex addict or alcoholic, but it has been a secret nonetheless, and one shared only with my closest friends. Which brings me to you.

When I'm not fantasizing about winning the Pulitzer Prize, I swing the other direction and think more modestly that I'd just like to write something, someday, that at least one person other than myself, my family and my closest friends finds worth reading. Last week, that dream came true. Thanks to a friend prodding me, I created this blog and posted "10 Rules to Make Buying Decisions Easier." As expected, my best friends Joe, Andy, and Jenn all read and commented on it. But to my greatest surprise, Betsy commented on it, too. I used to work with her husband and she certainly doesn't fall under the "I have to read this, because my best friend wrote it"-category. Another big surprise was seeing that I had a "Follower." I saw there was one person and figured it would be one of my best friends. But no, it was Ken!!! A friend I've met twice in New York City, once 10 years ago and the second time two years ago. I was stunned, excited, and felt inspired to write...for Ken, my follower.

To all of my closest friends, I love you and truly appreciate your encouragement—in life, in general, and specifically about my writing. But today's blog is dedicated to Betsy and Ken, people who really didn't have to read last week's post, but did, and who inspired me to write today.