O_O

This October, I may be going to Germany to teach English.

The smiley in the title says it all.

Really, I have never experienced such weeks as the last two have been. First the accident, which led, in its roundabout way, to my dropping out of school. (That would be complications for you.) I told myself I would take the rest of the year to reevaluate myself and my goals, perhaps start a book (nonfiction, because original fiction and I have not been getting along, and this is putting it mildly). Anything, really, to free me from the rut of failed projects and lacking motivation I've been lately in. I spoke with my parents, and we spent the breakfast hour coming up with a plan--I could write a book on writing, or perhaps on the homeschool experience, or perhaps--

Ah, but sad to say, I am my own worst enemy, my own most repulsive traitor. I couldn't get into the idea. I wavered over simple questions; I didn't know what I wanted to do. I didn't know what my parents wanted me to do. God, I didn't know anything.

My parents were baffled. I said I wanted to write, and yet I was hesitating over the projects they suggested. "Do you want to go back to school?" the mother asked.

No, of course I didn't want to go back to school, I said; school was a waste of time and money when I couldn't bring myself to appreciate it, when I wasn't ready for it, when I was coming to hate it. When I already knew what I wanted to--always thought I knew what I wanted to--

"Well then?" My dad, this time. "What do you really want to do?"

And that's when I lost it.

The fermenting tension in me burst like a balloon; I went into hysterics, sobbing, pulling at my hair, rocking back and forth until my chair groaned, choking out again and again and again, "God, I don't know! I don't know I don't know I don't know--"

They let me sob until I had calmed down, and then my dad said, gently, "You need to do something different. Put writing aside for a while; do something outside your comfort zone."

God, I was so frightened when he said that. Because I was suddenly, horribly aware of how true his words were.

We talked a bit more, discussed various places I could go - intern on a farm, stay with relatives on the west coast, volunteer to teach English at the local library, go on a missionary trip - we but finally rose from the breakfast table undecided on the issue. My mother mentioned she was going to write to some a friend of hers in Germany, ask if she would be willing to take me on for a couple of weeks. Of course, this was all the purest speculation, as my mother wasn't even sure if the email address she had was still in use, but there was no harm in trying, in asking.

Tonight at dinner, like a bolt of lightening out of the blue, my mother grinned at me and said, "Guess who wrote back and said she'd love to have you visit her in Germany?"

Reader, I could no longer swallow my green beans. Or say much except, "OH MY GOD YEAH," in so many eloquent words.

My mother's friend homeschools her children, and I proposed that I could teach them "the craft of writing" while I was visiting. My parents think it's an excellent idea. I'm thrilled by it. I finally have a solid reason to work on a curriculum for English.

It's strange, putting aside writing to do something else. In a way, it feels traitourous - I've always wanted to write professionally, and I want to be published while I'm still young - but I must face the facts: original writing and I are not getting along at all. To put it simply: I hate everything I write before it even has a chance to hit the page. Everything excluding my blogging and fanfiction, that is. All my original work can die in a fire... until, of course, I can stop working myself into daily rages over it.

Oh fanfiction, <3. I feel terrible for loving fanfic so much, and for not feeling genuinely sorry that I do. I visited the profile of a BNF Zelda writer today over at FF.net; I used to follow her blog until she said she was putting fanfic on hold for real, professional work. I dropped by her profile to see if this was still the case and indeed! it was. Drove me to glance at my own resolutions to drop fanfic earlier this year, then at my FF.net profile, and go, "Ouch. So much for resolve."

But really. I'm not sorry. So fanfic might nudge me too near the "writing as a hobby" line of things - it makes me nervous, thinking of writing as a hobby, as if I'm damning myself and the activity I love most - but it's worth it. I enjoy fanfic. I love writing about the characters of other people, playing in worlds - sandboxes - that haven't been created by me. I couldn't give a damn that I'll never recieve a dime for it. I love uploading my work onto FF.net, crafting a summary, a title, finally posting a story. I love everyone who reads my work, who reviews it (because words cannot express how awesome you are and how happy I am to see my stuff so well received, <333). Right now, fanfiction is enough for me.

And so today, I've been forced to ask myself, "Am I ready to write professionally?"

And the honest truth? No.

Much as I dream about being published, the desire to see my name in print hasn't yet tugged at my heart hard enough to hurt. It's still a fantasy, easily taken up and just as easily set aside. I will admit, I'm scared to admit this: it pulls the foundations of my airy castles apart; I always meant to support myself with writing, and now I'm admitting that at the moment, I don't have the urge to. (Not, of course, that many writers can support themselves with their writing. I'm starting to get an idea of how terribly vast my fantasy is, =/) I want the urge to sweep over me as soon as it can; I've tried again and again to fabricate it, for fear of losing my footing and being swallowed by reality.

But there's a difference between wishing, and facing fact.

And in words not so somber as those above, Germany. OMG. I can't wait, <3