Look! That is the place where I will talk about not writing and not clog up this blog with non-writing things.
Sometimes I forget. I forget that my admonitions fall on deaf ears. I forget, have forgotten, have never known, the sound of my name in your voice or the feather light whisper of your fingers on my face. Pre-dawn hours, both so raggedly exhausted that our conversation is nothing but giggles and ridiculous flights of fancy. Your eyes are exhausted. You haven’t smiled in years.
I miss you.
(c) 2008
5.3.08
Now is time to do what I want. But I plan to give myself a week or so off to relax my brain before launching back into it, which will mean more content for the blog! I know you’re all looking forward to that…
I got some good news tonight 
FUCK.
So the beginning I thought I nailed down on Monday is actually pure crap upon closer inspection, so I started over again. It wouldn’t be a real writing effort if I didn’t start over at least five times. And as if I didn’t have enough stress over writing short stories these days, I signed up for a 24-hour short story contest. We’ll see how this boundary pushing turns out. Next week I’m going to a reading by (in part) my professor and there’s supposed to be a good contact in attendance.
I think I’m old enough to admit that this scares the shit out of me.
We’ve instituted a new thing in our house in the evenings: one hour of creative time a night. Tonight was the first night because hey, I have a story to turn in by Friday. I got a great start on it tonight, so I had a very successful night.
I hope that over the summer I can get some new stuff up here for the masses to read. All three of you.
Last night, as I sat in my bedroom watching the clock tick ever closer to midnight and the deadline for my latest assignment, I felt one hundred percent empty. There was no pain, no fear…even the tears I cried had nothing behind them. I’ve struggled with writer’s block before and I don’t know if I ever stop being blocked but this feels different. This feels hopeless. I fear what this means for my future, not in terms of getting published but in terms of graduate school and what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. I can’t continue to be a secretary but I can’t do anything else, really. I don’t have experience in retail or food or computers or advertising or marketing. I can’t go to graduate school for anything else. A lot of this is likely tied to the other things happening in my life right now but I’m scared of this nothingness. I’m scared of the quiet, empty place I found in myself last night, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I decided just a minute ago that maybe I should discuss writerly things on this blog instead of posting old, crappy pieces of flash fiction. But then I realized I have nothing writely to discuss, at least not right now, because my biggest concern is this migraine that seems to be determined to make me miserable. Alas, earwax. I’m already going to be a little late for work, so The Migraine appears to have a slight advantage. But no more! No more, I say!
I’ve had an egg obsession the past week. I normally can’t stomach eggs as eggs (hard boiled or deviled or in things? yes!) — scrambled, over easy, omeleted, sunny side up? Barf barf barf barf. Just the smell is enough to make me gag. But for the past week, I’ve been an egg cooking machine. I think I hit my limit this morning though. I actually think I reached it Saturday but I chose to ignore all the signs. Given the fact that I nearly puked three times while eating my breakfast is a sure sign that my body is over its egg fetish.
Those are the trials and tribulations of your resident writer. Interesting, yes?
I got a few good question suggestions from two of my loyal readers, so I’m going to start working on the answers soon. That sentence is clunky and awkward. But rest assured, I’m going to have an about me page that isn’t so lame. Just not tonight.
Okay, guys. I’ve opened up this blog to a lot of people recently (not that they’re visiting, but you know, whatever), and that means I really need an About Me page that says something more than “I’m going to add to this later.”
So…
HALP. What do you want to know about me? What do you want to know about me as a writer? What do you want to know about my writing?
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