Random thoughts
I got fired on Monday from the job I was starting to hate, and by Tuesday was hired on at a much nicer firm with less hours and more money. Energy was moving in my favor. How or why, I don't really know. I needed the change, though. I start my new job tomorrow. I had a week off; it was a busy week, but it was nice.
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I feel like writing. I have been re-reading Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" Series. I am almost done with book 3. In September, it will have been a year since RJ's death. I thought about that today and started crying. Book 12, "A Memory of Light" is being written, so the story will have an ending. It's based on RJ's plot, and yet... it won't be RJ's work. It will be someone else's. I suppose that's better than never knowing how it all ends...
I lack the motivation to write, because I feel like every scrap of free time should be spent with Julian and the kitties, relaxing and having fun. I get anxious that work is going to be hard and stressful, and if I don't take the time to have fun when it's available that I'll regret it and I will end up never seeing the people I love. Strange fear, isn't it? Julian is constantly reminding me that we have TONS of time together, and he is absolutely correct. Still, I get resentful of any time not used to... I don't even know... not used for me? And so, I don't write. I watch T.V., I play video games, I read books, I clean house when absolutely necessary... and I don't write.
So, how am I supposed to be a writer when I never sit down and put pen to paper (or fingers to keys, more aptly)? I keep talking about getting my masters degree -- as if somehow then I will magically be able to sit down and write. That's how I've thought since I was 10 years old. If I just get enough education, if I read enough books on technique, if I gather enough life experience, if I do X, Y, and Z -- somehow then I will be a writer. But I know that none of that is true. A writer is a writer because they take the time and put in the effort to get words on paper. It's that simple. But then, why can't I seem to make it work?
Julian tells me that it'll be better when he's back in school; he'll be busy in the evenings with homework and other school-related activities, and that will give me the time to write. Maybe he's right, and I'm just feeling too stubborn and sorry for myself to see it. I thought that working as a paralegal -- writing all day -- would teach me discipline. But it's easier to write when you're working from forms and with someone else's story right in front of you to tell, than it is to create something of your own, original and new. I have so much in my head, and I don't know how to get it out.
I guess the thing is just to shut up, stop whining, and just write something. Anything. Like this
- - -
I feel like writing. I have been re-reading Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" Series. I am almost done with book 3. In September, it will have been a year since RJ's death. I thought about that today and started crying. Book 12, "A Memory of Light" is being written, so the story will have an ending. It's based on RJ's plot, and yet... it won't be RJ's work. It will be someone else's. I suppose that's better than never knowing how it all ends...
I lack the motivation to write, because I feel like every scrap of free time should be spent with Julian and the kitties, relaxing and having fun. I get anxious that work is going to be hard and stressful, and if I don't take the time to have fun when it's available that I'll regret it and I will end up never seeing the people I love. Strange fear, isn't it? Julian is constantly reminding me that we have TONS of time together, and he is absolutely correct. Still, I get resentful of any time not used to... I don't even know... not used for me? And so, I don't write. I watch T.V., I play video games, I read books, I clean house when absolutely necessary... and I don't write.
So, how am I supposed to be a writer when I never sit down and put pen to paper (or fingers to keys, more aptly)? I keep talking about getting my masters degree -- as if somehow then I will magically be able to sit down and write. That's how I've thought since I was 10 years old. If I just get enough education, if I read enough books on technique, if I gather enough life experience, if I do X, Y, and Z -- somehow then I will be a writer. But I know that none of that is true. A writer is a writer because they take the time and put in the effort to get words on paper. It's that simple. But then, why can't I seem to make it work?
Julian tells me that it'll be better when he's back in school; he'll be busy in the evenings with homework and other school-related activities, and that will give me the time to write. Maybe he's right, and I'm just feeling too stubborn and sorry for myself to see it. I thought that working as a paralegal -- writing all day -- would teach me discipline. But it's easier to write when you're working from forms and with someone else's story right in front of you to tell, than it is to create something of your own, original and new. I have so much in my head, and I don't know how to get it out.
I guess the thing is just to shut up, stop whining, and just write something. Anything. Like this