A week or so ago, I was sitting on the couch watching Castle. I thought about writing, about the writers' lifestyle, and what I wanted. I thought about my other passions: history, politics, economics. I realized that they often bore me. I don't really read history books all the way through. I can't watch the news daily for more than a week. Economics, while fascinating, is an ultimately hopeless field. As someone who believes in a free market, it's not like I want to control the market. Whereas, I have always been interested in writing. As I was sitting there, feverish and high on cough medicine, I began to picture how my life could be. I could be a writer--a real writer--and spend the entire day in front of a nice computer, with my wonderful new clicking Das Keyboard, blasting whatever music I wanted, and writing. I could wallow in my thoughts. I could permanently run away from this world I despise and live in the world of which I dream. It would be a wonderful life, that.I do not know, however, if it would be enough.
But I have time, now. I have spring break this week, meaning that I can finally breathe. I have very little homework. I have time to try on this lifestyle, this career, and see if it makes me happy. See, I base all of my life decisions off of experimentation. I have spent many weekends immersed in politics. They have made me happy enough. This week I will see if writing alone can make me happy. I will settle in coffee shops with a laptop and write, just write for hours on end. I will play the part. I will pretend to be a writer, and see if it makes me one.
Hypothesis: After a week of pretending to be a writer, I will know that I could potentially do it.
Materials: Laptop, Flash drive, Coffee Shop, Coffee, iPod, Crackberry
Procedure: Sit in coffee shop for hours on end, with coffee and laptop. Write.
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