Books at the bus stop

In the summer between seventh and eighth grade, I started a book. I liked to write, I liked obsessing about my on-and-off again boyfriend (now my husband), and I liked the idea of combining the two. So I created this story about a girl who lived in a neighborhood with seven other kids, for a total of four boys and four girls (conveniently). The main character obviously got to date the main boy character, and then I paired up the rest. All of the characters were based on my real-life friends. I wrote many notebooks full about our daily lives and drama, and then a year or so later, I wanted to end the story but didn’t know how, so I had the main girl get pregnant from the main guy but then die from some terrible illness after delivery, leaving the main guy to raise the baby by himself that he would name after the girl, in order to remember her forever. Years later, the main guy would supposedly locate the main girl’s diaries which were filled with the exact story I was writing, telling the play-by-play of our young lives. Deep, I know. Also terrible.

But when I wrote that little story, I felt like I had something to say, something to contribute. And the best part was, every morning at the bus stop, my best friend would harass me for my latest notebook and ask if I had written anything new. She was dying to know who her boyfriend would be and what sorts of things would happen to the character I modeled after her. She loved that stupid little book. And then one day, she started her own. I can’t remember what it was about and I don’t think it lasted long, but after she started hers, the boy at our bus stop started one too. His lasted an even shorter amount of time, but the idea was we were all writing books and sharing them at the bus stop. Not only did I love to write, but I was excited to read the books my friends crafted. I’ve always loved writing and it’s also my favorite subject to teach, because of this exact experience.

This is how I feel about blogging. It’s kind of my guilty pleasure. I’m not typically writing about anything earth-shattering, but it’s in my head and I like to get it out on “paper”. I like to contribute to the internet’s conversation. But even more than that, I like to share in the blog world. I like to read blogs. They don’t even need to be about infertility or babies. I have some mommy blogs that make me laugh, some gluten free good reads, a whole site dedicated to DIY toys for kids – there are blogs about every topic imaginable. And I love to read them.

This is why I wish my friends had blogs. Everyone has something to say – it doesn’t need to be major. Better than a 140-character tweet, or the barrage of “forwarding-style” ads on Facebook, this is an awesome place to tell your story. Yes, you need to enjoy writing and be able to find the time. But those are the only requirements. So friends, start a blog. I’d love to hear what you have to contribute. We could share our “books” at the bus stop.

Any takers? 😉

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11 thoughts on “Books at the bus stop

  1. sparrow says:

    Ha. What a great story! You should write a book about that story 🙂 And I agree. I’m completely in love with blogging. I keep trying to get my husband to start one, but so far he’s not convinced.

  2. JustHeather says:

    I love this post! That is so cool that you and your friends wrote books, even if theirs were a bit shorter.
    I thought of writing a book at one point, but I am definitely not a writer and never will be (I have re-found the first few sentences of my lame book years back. haha) My blog is my way to let my thoughts out of my head and record them for later perusal. I need to hop on the bus more often.

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