His Favorite Daughter

Do you remember the games in crossword puzzle books where you start out with one word and have to change one letter each time to get to another word? Well, that’s NOT what this post is about!

I’ve been assigned an article to write for a client. And as much as I love to read and write, this one has become a little bit frustrating. I’m trying to do what I’ve been asked, but there are some ambiguities in the direction, and I’m getting stressed.

The original assignment was to write an article about why someone would want to read the Top 100 Books. No problem, I think to myself. I should be able to do that. Boy! Was I wrong!

Do you know how many Top 100 Books lists there are? It seems each publishing company  has their own chosen list of the Top 100. National Geographic has a Top 100 Adventure Books list. There are Top 100 Books lists in different countries. There are Top 100 Children’s Books lists. There are Top 100 Erotic Books lists (let’s NOT go there!!). The types of lists are endless!

So, I write to the client to find out which Top 100 Book list they would like me to use. They didn’t specify, so now I have to try to read their mind and figure it out.

So, among all the lists I have read (and there have been many), I came across one that lists Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past as one of the books on the list. Instead of reading it as Marcel Proust, I read the author as “Parcel Post” and thought that was an unusual name for a child. LOL

I guess the stress is getting to me. A wise friend suggested that I take a break. So, here I am, letting the frustration out on “you” instead of allowing it to come through within my writing the article. (Or at least I hope it DOESN’T come across in the article!)

I have to admit, I had forgotten how therapeutic writing could be. I had used it as an outlet for feelings quite a lot when I was younger. What young girl hasn’t written in her diary about the unrequited love of her high school crush? I used to write poetry to express that part of myself. You know, the hidden feelings that you don’t want anyone else to see.

Then, as I got older, I stopped writing so much. I guess it had something to do with the fact that I was an English major. I had so many LONG term papers that I HAD to write, that I didn’t take the opportunity to write for the shear joy of it. Amazing that the one thing that had always been a constant friend, was what I walked away from. Hmm.

So, to make a long story (hopefully) short, or at least shorter, I’ve taken my friend’s advice. I haven’t written any poetry about my frustration, but writing here on the blog is just as soothing. In fact, I think it’s even more so. Knowing that I can express myself, and someone might even read it, it helps me to choose my words carefully - especially if I don’t want to embarrass myself!

If I haven’t said so, thanks to those who have come by to read. I hope that something I have said, or will say, will be a blessing to you. Heck. Who knows? It might even encourage you to start your own blog and enjoy the release I feel when I let my fingers do the talking. And if I can encourage just one person to start writing for the joy of it, then I’ll feel that this has all been worthwhile, frustrations and all.

Be blessed! Don’t forget to acknowledge God, and love on your family.