Thursday, January 17, 2008

I Am A Coward

I was going to write something different here, something banal and not very interesting, even to me, just to keep up the illusion of blogging consistently. I was going to talk about how angry I get while driving, knowing we all have those moments. It might have been funny, but the real reason I was writing here instead of writing creatively was because I was being a coward.

Now, I can be pretty confident. When I was growing up, guys that might have liked me were afraid of me because it seemed like I didn't need anyone. I can be pretty intimidating if you don't know me or if you already don't like me. I have been mistaken as a bodyguard when I went out with my female friends. Well, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a mistake since I tend to get overprotective when I think some idiot is bothering my friends. But that's another post. The signs of other's people fear of me has usually come out in anger, but in the end, once people who are willing to give me a change get to know the real me, I am not THAT intimidating. Often.

I'm not afraid of much. I'm afraid of my husband dying. I'm afraid of dying in horrible pain. I'm afraid of mushrooms and spiders. Yesterday, I discovered, I'm afraid of the empty page. I took out my notebook to write, to jot down a few lines for a short story that's been rolling around in my mind. I stared at that blank page for nearly ten minutes, my mind wandering all over creation. Even now, as I'm writing and remembering, knowing I need to keep writing this and then start on my spec script, I want to pick up the sock I'm knitting, my second sock so I can finally have one pair of socks I knit for myself.

As my mind wandered last night, I played solitaire on my phone, I checked my email twice, I added new buttons to my home screen, I moved things around... I didn't open my computer because of the distractions, but then I let my phone take the place of the computer.

I know that some people have encouraged me to just write whenever I feel led to creatively and not beat myself up because I don't feel that way everyday. Some people have told me that I am talented, that my writing is growing, but it's not growing for myself. It is growing for others. I know that means that I am growing, but I'm growing in a new type of writing for me that I never expected to and I want to grow in my chosen field. I enjoy the writing I do. I love it. I love coming up with new ways to bring notice to my words, even if that comes with the unwanted knowledge of who I am. But in this town, that's important. If people know that I'm "my byline" then they will read and tell people they know "my byline" and my name would spread and so would my readership.

But more than that, I want to actually get my scripts written. I want to get these short stories out of my head. I want to be as creative as I once was, where I could sit down, at any time, and write. Maybe it would be bad, but it would come out and go down and it would be more than a sentence here and a sentence there.

Ah well, this coward is feeling sorry for herself. Carry on.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

New Post

Because you've waited long enough.

And by "you" I mean I. I've been working on the next segment of the saga of my life. It sucks that I'm working so hard and all you'll get is whatever comes out in the end. And by you, I mean I.

I'm dealing with a bunch of shite, mainly self imposed, but I'm working on loosening my own mind to let me just be, to learn to grow, to not be so worked up, as I most often am.

My husband and I have a sign for when I'm all worked up. It can happen anywhere. In the car, in the coffee shop, in my home, on the job. It starts with idiots and it always ends with my head exploding (to borrow a phrase from a friend). If my anger was my superpower, my head would be aflame, like Ghost Rider. Okay, the sign is my hands going beside my head and then me miming that my head is catching on fire, complete with the whooshing sounds of a fire catching (that's my favourite part).

Anyway, my journey to look at my spirituality comes at a time when I don't even know what I believe. I mean, I have a few things I'm holding on to, but to let go of the things that I feel has led me so completely off track, I have to go back to the very first time that I began to have a glimpse into something spiritual. I have to replay where it led me, I have to replay where I stepped off of the road. I have to decide if I've even stepped back on. I have to decide if there is even a road.

I'm trying to be completely naked, but there is something about revealing yourself in a way you haven't even revealed to your own self that makes things like blogging risky. I mean, if my mom, God bless her, were to actually find this site (I hear she's emailing now), I'd have a lot of disappointed lecturing to endure (mainly because of this sentence). We already don't agree that the Harry Potter books will go into the annals of history as one of the greatest works of child lit ever.

Well, I have to try to shave a few inches from my thighs. And by "my", I mean you. You know who you are. I'll check in with you all later.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Halloween: A Story in Pictures (and words)

Finally, after wasting much time, I have put together the photo album for my pictures for all you nice people.