1. I would like to crochet a blanket.
I have started a number of times, and I still have a largish attempt ‘on the go’, i.e. stashed in my wardrobe somewhere, waiting for my schedule to clear or my urges to overtake me so that I can pick up the hook and yarn again. It is a pretty, dusky pink and purple mix, rough thin acrylic, simple infinite granny square pattern, but it’s mine, it has been in the making for ages, and I will complete it. Some day.
Alternatively, I might invest in some super chunky yarn and do it the easy way.
2. I would like to write a novel.
I have had this wish, like so many, for years, and I have envied all the novelists who can devote their life to this weird obsession of story telling, even though I know the life of a writer is far from glorious.
I have written some short stories, but most of my accounts are selfish purges.
The furthest I’ve got was age 17, when I wrote an intertwining series of character sketches, a day in the life sort of little vignette of various characters who bump into each other, and the story shifts and continues as one person meets the next. It got a nice little review from my mother and few friends I shared it with, and I could, if I wanted, elaborate and expand it. But I don’t really want to.
Another attempt I still return to now and again, just to amuse myself with, not to continue, is a little novelette I wrote about the life of a university student girl who lives with a boy and is pursued by another. It was the naive little fantasy of a teenage girl who dreamed about an eventful, interesting life to come. Little did I know that I would end up living with not one, but 4 guys during university, and being fancied by someone was not all that glorious as I thought it would be.
Recently, I have thought about writing something about what I have been going through in the past years, being the ‘other woman’ and how it actually feels, but I am scared of writing a memoir or a biopic, scared of confronting my own feelings. Besides, such books require a beginning, a middle and an end, and hopefully some character development and moral lessons. Currently, I am unable to identify those in my life, so this idea is being shelved until further developments.
A sudden thought occurred to me as I signed up to NaNoWriMo this year and raked my brain for a novel idea, and I realised I could write about my experiences at work, all the crazy beautiful people I met and had the opportunity to glance into their lives. It wouldn’t be a work of fiction, but I have plenty of material, and it might help to put the confusing experiences of the past year on paper. It would be as much a portrait of the people I worked with as myself, because I know my understanding of them reflects back on me directly. At the moment, I am most certain that I will embark on this project, as I don’t fancy character developing out of thin air or chewing my pens over world building worksheets.
3. I would like to read all the Booker Prize winners, and write a little review / thought blurb on them.
It may not be something I create personally, but the appreciation of others’ creativity, and I think it’s important to pursue it. Besides, it placates my once self who dreamt of being a literature major at uni, so there.