I found this blog a few minutes ago. It is 5 years old and I can sum up the last five years in one word: ……………….. Get it?
Maybe it is meant to be, my finding this blog again. I read a few posts and they revolve around my wanting to write. Well, here is something in progress. And, very much in progress, but, hell it saw light and that is what matters. Now, maybe one day, it will see…day.
I have no excuse beyond the fact that life and transition down to Miami has paralyzed me a little. I no longer wake up thinking about writing and I know it is not because I don’t want to, but rather because I have gotten so distracted. I promised myself that I would get my orientations planned for June, and wrap up my freelance work- and then, write away. I revisited the one and a half chapters I have written and enjoyed each page. I must set up a little chair and desk for myself on the balcony and get past chapter two. Okay, I’ll commit to a deadline: June 23! Two chapters by my 35th b-day.
By the way, it all worked out better than I thought!
Busy, busy day. I did most of my writing in my head. On paper, I’m at 5,000 words of totally new material with some fundamentals of my previous notes intertwined. I’m happy. I am thinking about going back to each page; making sure there is rhythm and beat and colour and life to each sentence.
I’m so proud of myself; i’ve written 8 pages and my characters are developing. I notice that when my personal life is in order I’m not as stressed and or depressed and I feel empowered to write. I have a plan for the summer; I got a great job workin a season contract in Miami and I start classes in August. I have friends around me loving me and encouraging me and my father and I are slowly creating a space to enage in conversation. I am very happy and my writing is flowing just right! I feel bad now because I am suppose to be blogging everyday about my writing. I’m cheating a little and will be back on track with my blog. Pencils Up!
Today as I met with my job readiness person; tutored; interviewed and traveled all over Manhattan and Brooklyn, I saw the face of my protagonist. She appeared to me the same way one would see their face in a reflection. She told me her name and I wrote it down. I observed her and read her story on her face. She is the first person I gave a voice to; it was a one page breakthrough, but, it’s a start. Let’s see who else shows up. I’m guessing a neighbor; a female confidant. They both share something…but what?
To add, I came across a note I wrote to myself, giving myself permission to go back to a time when I was 17 or about, writing poems religiously. Filling binders with colorful language. The person I am now needs to reconnect with that writer if this is going to happen and then all of the writers that matured from that point forward. I am too in the present and had to step back. Unfortunately, I cannot create a distant space to write it all down; I have to live in the process and work. I am also on a timeline as grad school is fast approaching.
Let’s just see…
yes, I have writer’s pause. I started something I liked, then, rewrote and reread and now, I’m totally 100% insecure. So, I’ve paused. It hasn’t helped any that my life is in a little hold on the runway, either. My inspiration was in the possibility of being able to write and create a space to do just that and now I have no idea what next week will bring. I’m hoping one day I will look back and read this and realize how silly I was to doubt myself and my opportunities and faith. Today, and lately, I’m just a little disheartened.
I had a little quick brunch this morning with one of my angels who has been so supportive these past 9 days as I am getting my literary journey together. It was in our conversation- or rather- a reflection of our conversation that I realized there was a moment of vulnerabilty that I tend to keep hidden just as much as my having closeting my desires to write escaped a bit. It is a good thing because as I felt undressed, I came face to face with a reality. I have all these stories in my mind, but, I think they have been serving as scapegoats for my telling the true message I have inside the writer in me.
So, now, I want to scratch the themes I’ve been considering to set in place and dig down to the root. What is my message? What is it that I want to purge? I realized I’ve been dancing around metaphors and fictitious possibilities as guises to what I am petrified in doing: telling a story of all stories dancing around in my mind- my story. But, how? I think of writers that have influenced me: Maya Angelous comes to mind. Piri Thoms; Nicholasa Mohr. People who have written their lives onto paper. There are more- but, I’m speaking to the ones who influenced me as I was reading in college. Literature liberated me and I want to do something like that, too, if I can.