Keep On Writing In The Free World

Working and writing is not turning out like I thought it would. I thought, if I am already writing, working in a job that allows me to work around my writing schedule should be easy.

Wrong.

It seems to be harder. And not only does it seem to be harder, but I am getting more ideas for short stories, television scripts, and articles than I can write. And I'm hearing the voices again... just bits of conversation as opposed to full blown stories with plots, but it will come soon.

That sounds crazy.

My husband tells me he always hears music in his head. As a musician, that makes sense. Sometimes I see him move his hands over invisible keys playing the melody. Me, I hear voices. Strangers take up residence in my head and tell me stories. They keep talking, whether I'm asleep or awake. I miss important plot points. I miss deaths and births, but I hear stories. For a long time, it was a constant barrage. Sometimes, they would include people I know and I couldn't remember if it was only a story or if I had actually had this conversation. Usually, it was only a story. Then, different things happened and it was like my brain shut down.

I used Jeopardy to gauge brain activity.

After my brain shut down, I couldn't hear the stories anymore. I would put my hand to paper and walk away blank. Blank page, blank on the inside. I would watch Jeopardy and not know a single question... or if I knew it, could not get it out before the true answer was given. I was working alot, feeling unappreciated at my job, under stress... just in a generally bad way. Then I was given the blessing of pursuing my dream.

Which was more like a nightmare at first.

But as I worked diligently (and for free) just for the opportunity to become a better writer so I could then make the big bucks, I noticed something.

The voices were coming back.

I could play Jeopardy again.

It sounds crazy.

But I missed it, I realized. The first time I woke up to voices and stories, I just listened. They didn't lead me anywhere, but it was comforting. I felt comfortable in my own skin again. Being away from the pressure of that old job was getting rid of an invisible toxin I never knew I had. I am turning back into myself.

Maybe if writing and working wasn't so time consuming and sleep depriving, then it would be perfect. Then again, because I thrive on chaos, maybe it already is.

How Do You Feel?

I did a silly little blog poll today that asked, "Who is the greatest person in the world?" The choices were: Your mother, the Speaker of the House, the guy that invented the Tivo, Mike Bobo, or "W". It is obvious, if you know me, that I picked the Tivo guy. When you made your choice, you see what most people picked. Most people chose their mother and for a split second, I felt guilty for valuing the Tivo guy over my mother. Then I realized my mother doesn't even like TV, much less record shows for me when I don't get to watch them.