A friend of mine who is a chef, likes to joke with me from time-to-time about my
"Cookbook, Sarah. Have you written that cookbook yet?"
I've worked around restaurants for almost 15 years, I enjoy dabbling in the culinary arts, and have a deep appreciation for those who do it better and for a living. Life without my taste buds would be quite bland; for it is a basic need to eat, but it is a pleasure to enjoy food.
What makes me hesitant however, to translate my passion for the edible to the page, is my ego. When writing loses its magic, its allure, its power for me, will be when it becomes so much about "me" and "my interests" that my focus shifts. The written word has always been an essential part of my life, not unlike the vittles of nutrition, but where is the line between quality work in the craft and subject matter? When does one overtake the other and become too much about the Ego or Id? Too much about you and less about the art? Or is there no division at all, since the art can't exist without the mind from which it came.
Ironically, I am introducing this topic on a blog, which is just another forum for self-glorifying subject matter. But more so, Freud was actually dying from cancer of the "oral cavity", when his daughter gave her blessing to administer the morphine that finally ended his life.
C'est la vie!