When I was in college, writing was a dream that seemed attainable. I already did it every day--academic papers kept me sharp and well-read, and my creative writing minor had me pumping out quality personal essays on a regular basis. And then there was the feedback--the constructive criticism that made me better every time. I never knew what I was going to "do with my life" (sometimes I still don't), but I knew that I would always write.

This might sound ridiculous, but this blog doesn't always feel like a place where I write. I don't like that. It feels like I'm not being true to myself in some way. I love sharing my life with you guys, but I want 2014 to be the year I start writing more things I'm proud of--things that feel more like complete pieces than blog posts. And I want to start getting better again, because when I sit down to a blank Word document, I realize just how rusty I've gotten.

Back in 2011, I vowed to write a piece of creative nonfiction every week. It was obviously an ambitious goal, or else I would have done it. But I would like to try again.

These posts will be labeled "Old Friend from Far Away" (because the writing prompts are all taken from the book--get it here), and I'm not sure how I'm going to go about them. I once made a list that I think was easy to follow, so I'll go ahead and do that again. I've spoken with a few people who would like to follow the prompts and write along, and I'd love that.

• 02/17: What's been on your mind? What have you carried and gnawed over? (OFFA, 154)
• 02/24: Tell about periods when you haven't read. What were you doing? Where and when do you read best? (OFFA, 160)
• 03/03: Often we are pulled between two places...Tell us about them. Give us the pull, the conflict, the desire. (OFFA, 204)
• 03/17: Write about your mother's jewelry. Write about her shoes. (OFFA, 153)
• 03/24: What is your anchor, what you trust and know and can come home to over and over in your writing? (OFFA, 238)
• 03/31: What is the third thing? There is you and there is writing. But you can't write about writing. It's ingrown. You and writing must gaze out at a third thing. Of course, a fourth, a fifth will appear, but for now the two of you look out together. What is there in this world? (OFFA, 42)
• 04/07: A lunch you loved. (OFFA, 209)
• 04/14: A memory of a Popsicle. (OFFA, 209)
• 04/21: A memory of sunscreen. (OFFA, 209)
• 06/23: A self-portrait in third person. (OFFA, 214)

Thanks for reading. Thanks for writing.

It's been a while since I picked up my copy of

Old Friend from Far Away

, but I've been thinking about it a lot since I moved. I guess it just took an uninspired afternoon for me to reach for it, hoping for some kind of serendipitous writing prompt to be waiting for me on whichever page I happened to open. Of course, I never like the first one, so I tried again until I came across a passage that spoke to me.

"In order to write we must have an awareness of who we are--and who we aren't. If you don't know either, writing can help teach it.

Know that writing is born from the ache of contraries, polarities in search of peace, of unity.

But not the unity of making mush. You want to live in the country. Your husband is an urban boy. You compromise and both live in the suburbs. What a squash of desire and energy.

Can you instead hold the tension until something fresh and howling results? You must find your way to this when you write.

What bold restless extremes do you carry inside?

"

Here are some of mine:

Coffee. Every day.

The best meals start with garlic and butter or olive oil.

I feel that there is no room in life for guilt or regret. Where do you go with either? I try to live each day well and if I make a mistake, I can say I'm sorry--fix it in some way--but then be done with it.

People deserve to be happy. Surprisingly, happiness doesn't always have room in it for everything you thought it might.

There was a time when I was insecure and unsure of myself in too many ways. It wasn't fun, and it wasn't good for me, and I'm glad that time has passed.

I want a big life full of good food and some kids and a dog and all the people I love near me more often than they're not.

When I read, write, run, pray--do whatever it is that makes me feel connected to myself and the Universe that surrounds me--I feel better. Because I am better.

I am often hard on myself and it's usually unfair.

I'm supposed to write. I just don't always know where to begin.

So, what bold restless extremes do you carry inside?

Photo credit: 

Winona Grey Photography

[Raindrops on my window, taken December 2011]

In

Old Friend from Far Away

, Natalie Goldberg talks about the worth of ordinary lives. How we don't have to be special and exciting people with extraordinary habits in order to write something of value. And, as usual, she says these things in a way that makes me subconsciously reach for a notebook and get started again with renewed hope.

"We need you--the ones who had a cough and your mother or grandfather was there to administer the syrup...

The important thing is to go below the cliches to

touch the texture of your experience

. Your mind is hungry to be alive. You give us that gift by laying down your true mind on the page. We read it and you open up fields of our own imagination." (OFFA, 121).

I'm only twenty-three years old, but I'm afraid of the dark. I love to read. I drink too much coffee. I do not skydive, have an exciting job, or make very much money. But I do have dreams and a lot of thoughts. These things are worth writing.