Wading though my past

In addition to the seventeen journals I have a box of tapes from a mini-recorder I used to keep with me all the time. Hours of tape to listen through. It was weird last night, like being sucked physically back to 2002. The beer helped and hurt at the same time, it accentuated the time warp feeling but it made me kind of sad. I'm not 100% sure I can write this story, and the reason I put myself through those years of hell was so I could write about it.
I'm 99% sure I can do it. Just the sifting through of my personal history kind of sucks, really.
I told Bryan what I was doing. He doesn't get jealous; I would have a fit. I'm lucky I found him.

Seventeen!

This will be harder than I thought. I have 17 -- count them-- old journals I have to go through. It's going to take days just to get started on the story.
I'm going to need more beer.

"if you don't know, honey..."

Since the novel is temporarily stuck I've decided to work on a story that started ten years ago and see if I can stand it. I've got about ten journals and the blog from the disk that I found... I'm going to tell the convoluted story of "The Boy". The one who made me crazy, the one who took up so much of my time-- I always said it would be worth it (the crying, the rejection, the ill-advised sexual exploits) because one day I'd write about the experience and it would be a great piece. Now seems like the time, I don't know why. Maybe because I have Bryan, maybe just the season and the music I found quoted in my old blog. I feel super creative, like I can write anything tonight. (Maybe that's the beer talking?) It's weird that it's going to take so much researching to write about something that happened to me, but I've blocked a lot of it out over the years.
Wish me luck.

"should've never started, ain't that the way it always ends..." jimmy eat world

disks

I found a large bundle of old disks in a box and had Bill put the material on cd. I was hoping for a lot of poems, but got only two and they're ex-boyfriend poems and need a LOT of work to make them respectable. I did, however, get about fifty pages of my online journal from 2001/2002 which has some good lines in it.
I have a lot of material to work with lately. I think the writers' block is lifting.

(Brandy: maybe I am ADD. Wouldn't surprise me.)

Old Poems

I spent two nights digging through my ancient journals looking for poems I can update and fix. I found five out of about ten hours of searching, which was disappointing. But I started typing them in today and I'm hopeful.
The cats are chasing wadded up paper balls around the house, which means at least I'm working, if writing badly. I'll take badly over nothing, thank you very much.
Still stuck on the same song, it seems to be tied to my productivity. It would drive Bryan insane if I didn't have ear buds. He has such bad taste in music.
I need to get ready for work and our stupid meeting but I want to work on poems. I ned time off to write. It'll never happen.

More Words

I've been working. On the novel and on a few stories. I can't seem to really focus but I can give a few minutes or an hour to each piece. I've been doing it every day so it's all getting better.
I feel much better now. It may be the Prozac, it may be inspiration from friends. I don't care what it is, I'm writing and I feel like a living thing again. And I love it; I remember now that I love writing, that's why I started. It's nice to feel it again.

Tarot reading

Lauren basically gave me a challenge, to write. It was weird to hear her say that some days she didn't feel like playing piano but knew she needed to; I imagine her always at that thing. She said that I'm in a place of creativity right now and that if I'll just work then I'll succeed. Which is what I'm doing going to see Penelope today. Bryan wants me to go look at potential couches with his mother but I outright refused. Working on the book is more important than Christmas presents. There are very few people in my life right now that are more important than writing and couches are nowhere on the list. I was instructed to "honor myself" by working on what I love, and I'm going to. In fact, I think I'll start that now.

"I've been dreaming again..." Lauren Krothe

work

I worked for hours. I cut more than I wrote, but it was working. Now I feel like a worthwhile part of society again. It's nice to feel that way. It's difficult to have the conviction (however silly) that you were meant to do something and then find yourself unable to do it for months.
I feel better now.

"Oh, such a primadonna..." The Weepies

click click

I've had a very busy day. Clean the cat room, do the dishes, make spaghetti sauce, go to Brad's, go see Ella. Now I'm having beer and working (trying to work) on the book. Wish me luck. I don't seem to have any new ideas but I'm hoping reading the manuscript for the 40th time might spark something. I refuse to leave this computer until I've done something meaningful... someone call Chris and tell him I won't be at work tomorrow. At least not without carpal tunnel and a hangover.

dust

When I was seventeen I said if I hadn't finished my first book by thirty I would overdose. Now that seems like a very lofty goal, as I have less than 6 months and only 40,000 words.
Perhaps I was expecting too much from myself. Or maybe just forgot that I'm lazy.
Writer's block is real, and it's deep and dark and horrible. Joyce Carol Oates can bite my unproductive ass.