I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before, but after receiving an email from a young, aspiring writer and finishing chapter two of Kelly Cutrone’s If You Have to Cry Go Outside, I felt inspired to write about it once again.
Some of you may not know this, but my very first passion in life was fashion design. I really thought I was going to be the next Versace lacing everybody up at red carpet events with boutiques in New York, Paris, and Milan. I loved the feel of certain fabrics, and would find inspiration in everything from lamps in my living room to clouds in the sky. Every other month I’d have some sort of design just begging to be put on a shirt, and every year I swore I was going to start a clothing company. I was just so overwhelmed by the business aspect of things I didn’t know where to even begin.
I remember talking to Lawn about it, and she said that if I really wanted to do it I’d do it. And if I didn’t, I must not want it bad enough. I never told her this, but that offended me. I don’t think it was her intention, but I felt as if she undermined my dreams. But no sooner than she said it did I realize she was right. My boyfriend at the time however, saw it all along. Throughout college he asked me why I didn’t just want to pursue writing. “But you’re so good at it,” he pleaded. “How do you know you’re just not doing fashion, because it’s what you’re used to?” He was right too, I didn’t know.
What I know now is every day that goes by without me writing feels like a missed opportunity. And nothing is sweeter than the sound my manicured nails make as they vigorously tap against the keyboard of my Mac Air. I’m not the best at articulating the thoughts in my head to others, but give me a pen and some time and I will make you feel things.
Give me a drop of water to write about, and I will turn it into an ocean full of broken promises and salty tears. Give me a house to tell the story of, and I will turn it into a home full of laughter … or hate … or love, whatever I’m feeling at the time. Give me a glass of wine (or four), and I will make words drip from the pages of my Moleskin, onto your lips, and down your neck. Mmm malbec. Give me a dream, and I will leave the city I love and the people I adore to turn it into a reality.
This is how I know I want it bad enough.