Planned on writing all day…

and spent most of it like this:


I have a song my friend wants me to write lyrics for and I’m in desperate need of getting a story of my own off the ground.  I need a writing partner.  Like Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett or John Green and David Leivthan.  That would be cool.  Or maybe not even a partner, just someone to shift the boulders around when writer’s block kicks in.  They just have to settle for my level of mediocrity and be okay with that.

I love writing.  I wish I was better at it.  Before I decided on going to college for music, whenever anyone asked what I wanted my major to be, I always told them creative writing.  I hadn’t even entertained the possibility of music.  It kind of just happened.  Actually the whole college thing kind of just happened.  But creative writing was my default answer… sometimes I wish I followed through with it.  My head has always been too full of stuff and I think on paper is the only place it belongs.  I spent most of my high school career holed up in my room writing.  My AP English teacher adored me and for once it wasn’t because my sister was THE Katherine Sullivan.  No, I was Kristine Sullivan, the girl who always had a stack of books on her desk apart from the assigned reading and a writing voice all her own.

But then I went to college and everything changed.

My depression and subsequent eating disorder scarred my imagination.  I stopped reading.  I stopped drawing.  I stopped writing.  I had experienced too much of a sick reality to bring myself to write stories about lives I would never live.

Recovery gave me back my voice and that is something I do not intend on wasting.  The pen is mightier than the sword, or razor blade, or empty plate.  Use it.


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