Bird by Bird--Intro

I can't remember exactly what class it was, but I remember this book (Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird) being one of three that we were able to chose from a required reading list. I did not choose it. I chose Steven King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft--which I still have on my shelf. I can't recall what the third choice was, although I distinctly remember there being three...Anyway that's really not my point. Ever since I heard my classmates' adoring praise of this particular book, I have been interested in reading it, and now I get to. Actually, I couldn't ask for a better senario: HOPE paid for the cost of the book, and I get to get credit for reading something I had already planned to read.


So, here I am, all ready to talk about the introduction. Okay, for one thing, I absolutely love Lamott's language. I can always relate better to a work if I am comfortable with the style. Her use of humor really drew me in--making me relate to the narrator. I mean, who wasn't laughed at in middle school? Might as well go with it. However, it was more than just the style that I really found myself connecting with. I mean, the feelings she describes--about wanting to be a writer--were hitting me like punches to the side of the head. Her words are still rattling around in there:

Throughoout my childhood I believed that what I thought about was different from what other kids thought about. It was not necessarily more profound, but there was a struggle going on inside me to find some sort of creative or spiritual or aesthetic way of seeing the world and organizing it in my head...I luxuriated in books. Books were my refuge. (Lamott xx)

It's so weird. Every time I question my decisions--my major, my plans--every time I think to myself that I am headed nowhere, I think about this. I know that nothing else could make me happier. I look at my friends, all working toward their practical, career-oriented degrees, and I realize that I couldn't operate that way. I love Lamott's description of living her craft: "They will have days at the desk of frantic boredom, of angry hopelessness, of wanting to quit forever, and there will be days when it feels like they have caught and are riding a wave" (xxix). I already feel this--just in my undergraduate work. I know I am absolutely nothing. A tiny speck in a world of gleaming gems. But still I can't help but think that it is a worthwile life. I may not be good, but I get something out of writing. Sometimes it's physically painful to get something turned in on time, but it is totally worth it when I look back.

I have a feeling that this is going to become one of my favorite books. I will soon be starting an entirely new chapter of my life. I need something that is just for me. I need light at the end of the tunnel, something to strive for. I want to be a writer. I need help.