In which our befuddled heroine marks the start of what she's convinced will be an Eternal Journey.

That's me; I'm the befuddled heroine. I have to say it's odd to think of myself as a central character. Through my life, I've been utterly convinced that I'm a periphery character, a bit player. Background, if anything. I stand with the mass of people who support the real hero/heroine, though I never seem to actually be a part of the crowd. But I figure now's as good of a time as any to start thinking of myself as the heroine in my story. It's true, isn't it?

So, how does this particular (and admittedly boring) story begin? As most things, with an idea. About eight months ago I had an idea for a novel.

Now for some backstory; I've been writing for as long as I've been aware of myself. When I was younger, it was more innocent. I'd stable sheets of notebook paper together and write little stories in them, complete with crudely drawn pictures. You know, standard kid stuff. Cute, but hardly the portent of literary success as an adult.

As a teenager, I wrote the standard dark and depressing poems that most angst-ridden kids write, though in my case those laughable poems somehow caught the attention of my english teachers. They insisted they were something special, and I think this was the first time I really considered the possibility of writing as a profession and calling. I loved writing, but it was always something I'd just . . . do. Never with any thought of sharing (sharing my poems?! Heaven forbid! Much too personal! The people would laugh at them, of course. I had very little self worth then).

I got kind of sucked up into what I should be doing, which was going to school and pursuing my cello performance degree, but I've never been able to keep myself from writing, not even at the worst times in my short and goofy life. Usually I'd write fanstuff, but every now and then I'd continue to work on original ideas.

So here we are, back at the start. Eight months ago I got an idea for a novel. More specifically, a trilogy of novels. And then I got another idea. And then another. I was overcome by the compulsion to just . . . write. This summer, I spent ten, twelve hours a day just writing. Not doing anything else, save for getting up to walk a few laps around my apartment. Fernando would leave for work at 7am and come home at 7pm to find me exactly where he left me; at the computer, writing as if my very life depended on it.

At that point, I realized this is what I wanted to do. I can't remember ever feeling such a passion -compulsion, even- for anything. Not even music. I've never been able to just sit down at the cello and practice for 12 hours straight. Everything else became inessential; from that moment, I decided that I wanted to devote my time and energy into storytelling, into sharing these ideas that I've been collecting for the last years. Trust me, there is a list, and it gets longer every day.

So why start a blog about it? I imagine the whole process of writing a novel will be something of a story itself. Inception to creation, the editing phase that I'm honestly dreading. The search for an agent, the search for a publisher. The rejection letters- I expect to accrue a lot of those.

I'm aware the story of publishing is not exactly unique, but perhaps I can offer something new through my perspective. After all, isn't that the point of writing? Aside from communication, it's the pursuit of perspective, of context relative to the self. You read a story and you can't help to insert yourself somehow; whether directly in the hero's shoes or opposite him, as a reflection.

I feel a duty to record for posterity that despite all the setbacks I know I'll face, I'm unabashedly hopeful at this point. I see the goal so clearly in my mind that it almost feels like a memory. I know that I have to hold that picture close to me, wear it almost like one would wear armor.

Though somehow, I don't think I'll need to remind myself of the joy I feel when writing. I don't think even a thousand rejection letters could dull that. Naive? Yes. Maybe.

We'll see.