All that talking about writing yesterday really made me think about doing some again, only, not fiction. I’ve been mulling over writing a book about our experiences with Autism. So, last night, after the thunderstorm passed and I had gotten Max settled down in the bed, I turned on Open Office Writer and began putting thoughts to -er- paper?
It turned out terrible. I hate it. I wrote about three paragraphs and stopped. I think the problem is that I’m not really sure where I want to start. I mean, most folks would start when the child was born or when the child was diagnosed, so I tried to start from the diagnosis…. Or well, from when we took him to have his hearing checked before we had any clue about the autism. (The testing came later.) Okay, so the REAL problem is that the damned story is too depressing to tell (again), and ridiculously difficult to write. Plus how many other moms out there have written books about their children’s autism? So, I stopped and played a game.
I’m starting to feel my life is going to be an endless procession of dirty diapers, laundry and dishes, pointless blog entries, and not much else. *sigh* What IS it all really about?
Ugh. Now that I’ve depressed myself I’m going to go play Tiqal for a while. 