You Should be Writing…Julie and Julia told me so!

It was a Friday night alone, a rare little luxury for me. My husband and daughter were at a dance, the little man was in bed (yea, I know I wasn’t completely alone, but just humor me) and I had the remote and flat screen to myself. So I flipped through Netflix to see what I could download to make my evening complete. (Sidebar – I freaking love Netflix, if you don’t have it, well, you should!) I was really looking forward to an escape into something so completely unlike my life. I was a little hormonal and in a rather flat mood, so I just wanted something sweet that didn’t require me to think and also gave me the occasional chuckle. Who better to fulfill such need than Amy Adams, right?
 

I was comfy and snuggled up (as was the sleeping child up above) so I hit the play button. Well what do you know? I was not even ten minutes into the movie when the Julie character is shown as the girl who was supposed to be a writer, but gave up. A few minutes later and she’s the girl who gave up and quit a lot of things. Okay, clearly, the writing gods had it out for me. But, I kept watching. Surely Juila Child, sweet, loveable Julia Child couldn’t make me feel bad about myself, right? As I flashed back and forth between Julie and Julia, Julie made a statement so bold, so unashamedly aimed straight at me that I literally looked around the room to see if Amy Adams was giggling in a corner waiting to see my reaction. Someone tells her she’s a writer. Her response? “I am not a writer. You have to be published to be a writer!” Slap! Boom! Bang! There is was.

Now for the one or two of you following what’s going on with my blog, you may remember that after making the commitment to write again, I struggled with what defines a writer. My gut told me that you have to be published to actually be a writer, or at least for ME, that’s how it needs to be before I give myself such a respectable title.
 

Since I was comfortable and I really wanted to see Meryl Streep pull off playing the sweet giant, Julia Child, I kept watching. I even kept watching as Julia struggled to get her first book published. Eight years she struggled, writing and rewriting. Here I am about two months into my process and the most I’ve accomplished is to get a few blogs written and a few paragraphs added to my own great American novel that we’ve all started working on. (In all fairness though, I did rededicate myself to losing weight and getting is shape as well and in the past two months I have lost about 15 pounds and the legs are looking pretty damn good!)

But even watching Julia struggle for eight years didn’t affect me enough to stop watching. I had invested my free Friday night, so I was determined to finish. My husband came home, got my daughter off to bed and sat down to snuggle with me just in time for Julie’s answering machine to host 67 messages from publishers and agents. Every single person was leaving message after message with offers of book deals. That’s when the tears started to flow of their own accord. As I cuddled on my husband’s chest, Julia finally got her book deal to have her cookbook published and the sheer joy that Meryl Streep showed for her character ran over me with happiness for her and brought sadness for me. For the first time in an incredibly long time, I felt true envy. I’m not the type of person who generally covets what other people have or accomplish. I think, Good for them and move along. But as I sat there, my heart burned with the desire to know what that feels like.

I have experienced many things in my life so far, like being the first person in my family to graduate from college, falling in love with the man of my dreams, giving birth to my children, the usual thirty something accomplishments. But more than anything, before I die, I want to experience the thrill of accomplishing my dreams of becoming a writer. I want to see my thoughts on paper, share with the masses what goes on in my crazy mind and one day get a beautiful white envelope with an offer inside. I’d even enjoy the answering machine filled with messages telling me these thoughts are worth binding, publishing and setting me into immortality.
 

Okay, so maybe that was a bit far-fetched. But isn’t that why we love movies? They make us dream and believe that the impossible just may be possible. They make us think that one day our dreams will come true just like they did for the characters in the story. Movies can turn a quiet and mindless Friday night alone into a thought provoking experience with endless possibilities. Thanks Julie and Julia (and the writing gods up above), I got the hint!