They Come Smiling Out About the Time They Always Do
I've been writing every day. Not a whole lot, but I try to do at least a page a day. Jacob bought me a really beautiful, leather-bound journal with an old-style map of the world printed on it and labeled in Italian. The thoughtfulness of it caught me so off-guard; I didn't know that there was a 'perfect gift' out there for me, but the minute he handed me the journal, I knew that was it. I've been writing a story about two little French children in it. All long-hand. I usually write in fragments: a page in this notebook, a line of dialogue on that Starbucks receipt, a spark of an idea in an email to myself. In other words, on whatever's available at the time. But I'm making a very conscious effort to write this story only in my new journal, and to make sure it's the only thing I write in the journal. It's slow going, but so far it's working. I've also been dragging Jacob's laptop around with me everywhere so I can work on the manuscript of By Land or By Sea.
I don't know if I'm cut out to be a novelist; I used to only know how to write description, but I trained myself out of that for screenwriting, which is meant to be as sparse as possible. Now I have to train myself back into seeing things from every possible angle, back to writing about things so that they breathe with a life no audience could doubt, that they are human in their complexity and exciting in and of themselves. Now every word matters just as sharply as it does in screenwriting, but in a completely different way. Hopefully it's something I can do well, but I'm not too sure.
I still don't have a job, though I do have two job interviews tomorrow. I had one last week to be the program director for a local artists' retreat, but I am pretty damn sure I didn't get the job, even though it's still listed on the Art Council's website. I hope I get the first job I interview for tomorrow. It's in a library which is more interesting than being in an office and it pays well enough that I'd be able to save up money while still definitely having tons of time to myself every day for writing and whatnot. I'm trying to tell myself that just because I want the job doesn't mean I won't get it. I'm trying to believe that's not how things work. Even though that's pretty often how it feels.
10 days only until Jacob and I go to New York. I'm excited for it. He's never been. It'll be fall, which I think New York was made for. Summer in New York can be horrid, winter in New York is a mixture of beautiful moments and ugly hours; only fall, and to a lesser extent spring, seem to have the city tailored to their attitudes and requirements.
I sort of wish we were driving up, only because driving with Jacob is such great fun. I know if I asked him at any point to pull over so I could run through a cow pasture in North Carolina, he'd do it. Plus I'm not going to feel like we're spending much time alone together in New York as we'll be crashing on Paula and Jenny's couch in the middle of their living room. So it would be nice to have those long road trip endcaps on the trip rather than two short plane rides with the air pressure so strong between us and people all around us.
And that's pretty much my life these days. Writing, applying for jobs, and counting down the days 'til Jacob and I go to New York. It might sound boring or pathetic, but I'm having a terrific time. I'm broke, but I'm happy. And I like this song.
I don't know if I'm cut out to be a novelist; I used to only know how to write description, but I trained myself out of that for screenwriting, which is meant to be as sparse as possible. Now I have to train myself back into seeing things from every possible angle, back to writing about things so that they breathe with a life no audience could doubt, that they are human in their complexity and exciting in and of themselves. Now every word matters just as sharply as it does in screenwriting, but in a completely different way. Hopefully it's something I can do well, but I'm not too sure.
I still don't have a job, though I do have two job interviews tomorrow. I had one last week to be the program director for a local artists' retreat, but I am pretty damn sure I didn't get the job, even though it's still listed on the Art Council's website. I hope I get the first job I interview for tomorrow. It's in a library which is more interesting than being in an office and it pays well enough that I'd be able to save up money while still definitely having tons of time to myself every day for writing and whatnot. I'm trying to tell myself that just because I want the job doesn't mean I won't get it. I'm trying to believe that's not how things work. Even though that's pretty often how it feels.
10 days only until Jacob and I go to New York. I'm excited for it. He's never been. It'll be fall, which I think New York was made for. Summer in New York can be horrid, winter in New York is a mixture of beautiful moments and ugly hours; only fall, and to a lesser extent spring, seem to have the city tailored to their attitudes and requirements.
I sort of wish we were driving up, only because driving with Jacob is such great fun. I know if I asked him at any point to pull over so I could run through a cow pasture in North Carolina, he'd do it. Plus I'm not going to feel like we're spending much time alone together in New York as we'll be crashing on Paula and Jenny's couch in the middle of their living room. So it would be nice to have those long road trip endcaps on the trip rather than two short plane rides with the air pressure so strong between us and people all around us.
And that's pretty much my life these days. Writing, applying for jobs, and counting down the days 'til Jacob and I go to New York. It might sound boring or pathetic, but I'm having a terrific time. I'm broke, but I'm happy. And I like this song.