Day 15: A picture of something you want to do before you die.

Day 15: A picture of something you want to do before you die.

 I want to travel the world before I die. There is so much to see and do out in the world that I just want to go and experience it with my family. Maybe one day I could be a travel writer, or at least have a wealth of information for characters to do and say and live. 

Besides traveling I want to write a nonfiction book or two before I die. I have the stories playing in my mind, the characters voices whispering to me night and day. Pictures of my dreams waiting to be written. My problem is insecurities, am I able to finish a book, am I good enough, can I? I have been told that I bring a story to life, I know hard to believe reading all this other boring stuff. My talent is not writing about myself that is a whole other problem, dating back to when I was a teenager writing a journal. That is another post, for another day. . . You know it came up so I will tell you. How many people read this anyway? When I was a teenager I wrote in a journal all the things I felt. Keep in mind I was a very depressed girl, I had less than bad self esteem. I started my journals in middle school and signed every entry with may I rest in peace. My mother found it and I got into a lot of trouble for writing that she loved my sister more than me. It wasn't even that I was so lost but only that I wrote it where other people might see it at all. So I stopped writing about myself and started really writing non fiction coded stories that I got into more trouble for. I think even through I was a very good writer, I know because I won a scholarship for a summer writing course  when I was 14. I didn't get to go because we couldn't afford room and board. Sometimes I think that my mother did not want me, us to succeed. She had to drop out of high school her senior year because of a pregnancy, me. I think that over shadowed my siblings and I, as non of us graduated from high school. We all went on to get a GED or equivalent after we moved out of our mothers house. I think we, well I can only speak of myself; I was left with the idea that I was not good enough, or smart enough to succeed in life.