I've lately developed an interesting, and probably strange, habit. When I'm going about my day, in my various tasks and activities, I've noticed that my thoughts have become more of a formulated "inner monologue". I start to think as if I'm writing in past tense about what's going on in the moment. For example, yesterday I was going to take a shower and I couldn't find my normal body wash. After looking through the drawers and cabinets in my bathroom and deciding that my little sister must have stolen it for the road trip to Idaho she and my parents took this weekend, I broadened my search to include my parents' bathroom.

As I rummaged around, I became oddly self-aware of my own thoughts. I suppose that during a task such as wandering around your house in your bathrobe looking for body wash, most people will lend themselves toward thinking about something else, something totally unrelated. After all, how thought-consuming can looking for body wash be?

Instead, my thoughts went something like this: I opened drawer after drawer, checked under both sinks, looking behind bottles of rubbing alcohol and cologne for body wash, or at least an unopened package of hotel soap.

The cause for this, I think, is my ever-increasing interest in being a writer. Because of this, and also thanks to my creative writing class, I have become more observant, more aware of my surroundings, and even of my own thoughts. I'm always thinking about to turn something into an interesting narrative. I'm always asking myself the question, how would I write about this if I wanted to post it in my blog, or include it in a creative writing project?

Maybe I should make myself a woven bracelet, embroidered with the acronym W.W.I.G.D - What would Ira Glass do?

Or maybe that sounds a little too crazy-obsessive.

The Sarah/Julie/Julia Project?

I've started reading Julie Powell's Julie and Julia, the middle installment of the movie-based-on-a-book-based-on-a-blog process that ended with last year's theatrical release starring the brilliant Meryl Streep and the adorable Amy Adams. At first, I was a little put-off by her crass language; it's not too much to be totally inappropriate, but it's enough to make her seem a little prickly around the edges.

But now I'm hooked. It's addicting, and a little inspiring - after all, Julie Powell was somewhat of an aspiring writer who got started by documenting her thoughts and impressions on a blog. I guess I take for granted how easy it is to be self-published these days. If you're good, it's a good way to get your foot in the door in the new-media/publishing industry.

Which begs the question: am I good? A college professor said in a lecture once that if you're posting online, you're findable. And if you're good, people will come to you. As of now, I don't exactly have a fanbase, outside of immediate family and friends. Maybe I need some kind of short-term goal to give my writing a more concrete direction and framework, like Julie Powell. That seems to be key to that kind of success, that is, having a goal, a thesis statement of sorts, to guide you as you present to the world something it's never seen before: life through your eyes.

All good things to keep in mind, but I think I'd have to start a new blog if I began a project like that. Which, of course, is the easy part.