Settled.

Right now, it's 12:48 am early Sunday morning. Outside of my living room window, I can see three high rise hotels and casinos and I can smell the ocean whenever I stick my head out of the window. My apartment is bare save for a writing desk with my laptop on it, a floor length lamp and a few clothes scattered on the floor left by my children and my neice. No beds. No furniture. No television. Just my family. This has been a long time coming for us. I finally got away from a city I have hated for most of my life and I now have a new apartment less than twenty minutes walking distance from the beach. I finally feel settled and content. This is where everything begins for me.

Can Someone or Something Kill Your Passion For Writing?

I had a very painful conversation with a young man that I have been good friends with for a very long time. He's someone I always thought the world of--and while I am not going to get into the specifics of the conversation out of respect for him and what he is going through--I did want to touch on something.

He mentioned that an individual killed the part of him that wrote.
Not something I could believe at the time and still not something I am quite willing to believe. It was a heavy conversation that came up out of the blue. No... Not out of the blue because his discontent was always simmering and we tried to talk about everything else except the thing hurting him. But we always come back to it and nothing I can say will ever change how he feels. But--I digress.

I know how it is to love a person to the point that it is hard to see anything else beyond them or the life you imagine for you and that individual.
I'm talking about love folks. It's not always pretty--or maybe it is and humans, the screwed up individuals we are feel the need to ugly it up a little to make it seem relevant. I don't really know what goes on with that, but I do know what it is to love someone that deeply because I do love someone that deeply. But I don't think that he'd kill my writing or the part of me that writes. I think that part of me exists on an entirely other plane. Not even he can travel that far and slay it. No one can. But the thought, the idea that it is possible for some people to feel that way makes me uneasy. This individual is a published author. He's not famous yet--but he will be if he doesn't let this thing get him before he's even crossed the starting line.
I don't like having tortuous thoughts about any of this--but I am. I don't like being a tortured writer--which I'm not thank Allah for that. I do draw on the almost...obsessive attachment that I feel for E. and I draw on his obsession with me. It's a dangerous thing and it has gotten out of control but it's like learning how to juggle knives or jump through flaming hoops--once you get the hang of it, it's the most thrilling experience you will ever have. I realize now that most people don't have that. It's either extremely comfortable or predictable or extremely volatile and dangerous with little margin for error. It is very hard to get right but once you do, then that's it.
I think that my friend's spirit was killed a little...not so much the writing. I told him that his writing is Jesus and his spirit is Lazarus and it'll raise him from the dead. He's not at a point to believe any of it. But you gotta dig down to the marrow to even get to that place.
I wouldn't know. I don't want to know. But that's how I feel--and I think I'm right.

Also...

I really need to re-vamp my blog layout. I need something new and tell this pale chick hanging from the tree to fall already! So anyone interested in making no money at all, but gaining my undying gratification--feel free to contact me if you want to help me fix this mess up. Otherwise, I'll be forced to tinker with this mess myself. It won't be pretty. Trust. I am good with Adobe Photosop CS5.1--so I can do the graphics and such. I suck at html formatting though. So yeah...help please!

Freelancing

I had every intention of working on the novel tonight and that just didn't happen. As mentioned in another post, I do freelance article writing for a few different individuals for a little extra money--and I had a new contract start tonight that I wanted to get a move on. Now I am dead tired with MS Word open and debating on whether to close it and try again tomorrow or see what I can pound our for about an hour. If this were five years ago, I would have pulled an all nighter so to speak and slept most of the day. But with two children and a mountain of responsibilities, I need the sleep. I am still trying to figure how to integrate freelancing, school work (I have an essay due on Sunday and a Chronic Illness presentation due on Saturaday) and my serious writing. It seems to me that I am going to have to suck it up and make like...a schedule or something? And then like--stick to it? So, yeah, we'll see how that goes. I could say something really bland like 'the writing is picking up'...but that sounds so bland and uninteresting as if it is an afterthought when in truth I am obsessed by writing. I have two obsessions--and even the one that should be more important has taken a back burner to my writing. I am so fucking (can I say 'fucking' on Blogger?) excited about it I can barely contain myself. I spent the last few days trying to outline--like seriously trying to outline before I said screw it. Maybe I'll try it later on in the revising process or whatever. But it just isn't working for me right now and I have been talking myself into it for weeks. There are all these different complicated formats to use and I feel like a retarded monkey scratching my head trying to figure out what it all means. But I am writing. I am writing more than I have in the past three years. I write everyday because I have to for all the other projects I have going on. I never thought I would freelance seriously with the article writing, but it feels good because it allows me to perfect my craft and the articles that have been submitted have gotten really great feedback--every last one of them, so that makes me feel good. I haven't lost my touch. I wish I had some really awesome advice to impart on folks bored enough to read this far--but I don't. I'm not one of those bloggers with tips and shit on how to be the awesomest awesome writer. Honestly, I couldn't be bothered enough to do all that unless I thought people really cared what I had to say about it. I will say that this is not easy--and I was stupid for thinking it would be easy because I do know how to write. Life has sprung 1001 one different things in my world at various points and I'm just now learning how to work around it. It's 12:44 am est and I have absolutely nothing else to say.

Oldie but goodie

Remember #agentfail and #queryfail that went down three years ago. Three years later and that shit is still amazingly hilarious! I have way too much free time on my hands.

Does this make me a prostitute?

Compressed. I have felt that for the past several months or so for more reasons that I care to get into--for reasons that aren't even entirely important anymore. I talked--well--emailed my mom today about The Thing I Was Scared To Tell Her About. No, I'm not pregnant, on drugs, or have become a raging alcoholic (or any sort of alcoholic for that matter)--but there was a thing between us. There has been a thing for about 10 years now between us. Apparently--I was the only one aware of The Thing and she completely shot it out of the water and I feel like I can breathe now. "How can you not know how much I love you? No one compares to you?" I keep replaying that over in my head. I needed that. Thank you mom. The other weight, that's gone too. The oppressive weight of worry is finally gone and I've been cramped in a ball so tight that I am re-learning how to stretch my arms and put them over my head without worrying about something directly overhead blocking me. --I guess that's why I haven't felt like writing. My laptop is waiting quietly for me. It's waiting for me to say something. Now that I've started freelance writing and getting amazing feedback the courage is coming back. I also submitted an essay for class that I had reviewed by a good and new friend of mine. She, who is a very hard sell, was extremely impressed and that writing was purely academic. The articles I've written don't even have my name on them...but they're mine--in a manner of speaking. I do those things for the grades and for money. I am selling my work very cheap...not even by the hour--By the word. Does this make me a prostitute and am I going to hell? I'm pretty certain about the whole not going to hell part. Prostitution? Meh.

Moments.

This is my little attempt to get this thing started again. I;m not exactly sure why, other than I feel the need to write without worrying about what it is that I want to say. Sometimes what I want to say isn't as important as what I need to say. And sometimes, it's alright not knowing the exact words, only that there is something inside of you that needs to be said. I figure if you don't understand where I am coming from with that, that maybe you aren't meant to. I'm in a strange place in my life right now. I realize that I don't know much of anything and that I've been playing life by ear. There are certain things that I know for certain and I try to build my existance around the things that are certain. Aside from work and school, this is the most 'me' writing that I've done in a little while. I don't know when I'm going to start writing seriously again. When I close my eyes I feel that it'll be soon. I'm not rushing it because--well...let me put it like this: You ever see one of those war movies and you're at the pivotal moment where the good guys are facing the bad guys...guns are out and aimed at the enemy and you're thinking 'SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT!!!" But the guy doesn't. If he moves too soon or too late, it'll cost him everything--even his life. That's the point where I am. I think...I think I've got something brilliant in my hands and yes I am excited to write it--beyond excited. I believe what I have, I'll write from start to finish within a month. The moment hasn't come and I am one of those people that live in life's moments. I think that there are points in my life in which I exist in sole moments and when it's gone, I kill myself trying to get that moment back even if the environment isn't right for it. And the bad moments--well I relive them in my dreams. If I find that one...absolutely perfect moment then it'll cancel all the others out. I'm not afraid to say that sometimes I really fuck things up--that sometimes I've missed my moments. I don't know how many more I get, but I hope that I didn't miss the one that counts. My heart pauses at that thought. I'm writing like no one will read this, and maybe they won't. I just need to have this here so when that moment does come, I can come back here and congratulate myself on being right about something.