I have begun my online writing class last week. So far, so good. I am writing. I don’t care what about, just writing.

I have been doing silly little exercises in my class and get my thoughts onto paper. I stared at a lit candle and wrote a detailed, creative description of what I saw.

I wrote a dialogue between me and a old coffee mug. I may write an essay on my Boston Marathon upcoming in April. I will write a book to be published some day.

See my reasons for writing here:

I want to write a non-fictional piece of work on an inspirational, extraordinary person because I want to influence the lives of others with my written profile of a human triumph.

I want to write a compelling novel because I will achieve great satisfaction by watching my characters come to life within a meaningful and provocative plot that I have created.

I want to write a compelling novel with credible, beautifully complex characters, because I want readers to relate my characters to themselves and their immediate universe.

I want to write a suspenseful novel with an intricately diverse set of deeply defined characters that all collide toward a major conflict because I want to entertain readers.

I want to write fiction that originates from the depth of my creative soul because I want to express a side of me that is untapped and full of potential.

I want to write a book that becomes published because I want to show my unborn children that, with passion and commitment, they can accomplish any goal that they dare to pursue.

I want to write a creative non-fictional article for a magazine because I believe readers would enjoy my perspective and insight.

I want to write a column or article for any tiny magazine or publication that I can find willing to listen because I want to get published again…soon.