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Bare and uncensored personal expression. Beware!!! |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "This is pretty much what journals are all about, at least to me. I knew as I wrote them that even though they provided an excellent place for brain (and heart, and psyche) dump, they were mainly a map of me." --- Colleen Wainwright "Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it." --- David Sedaris "Please write again soon. Though my own life is filled with activity, letters encourage momentary escape into others lives and I come back to my own with greater contentment." --- Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey "In giving of myself onto these pages every day I allow myself to write regardless of the depth and meaning. I share myself with others without fear of recrimination for these are my thoughts, my feelings and my very being, and there are non who's opinion of me matters more than my own." --- Rebecca Laffar-Smith   The Writer's Round-About |
| I'm severely allergic to bees. I've learnt recently it's not just their venom I'm allergic too but also the pollen they collect or perhaps simply the way that humans collect that pollen involves it getting mixed up with their venom or some such. Either way, bee pollen is now something I avoid drinking and am very thankful the learning experience was not as severe as it could have been. It's interesting how knowing something could potentially kill you and almost has done sparks phobias. *ponders* Sometimes I think on it and wonder if my fear of bees could be considered a phobia since personally I think being afraid of something that could kill me is pretty rational. But really, I guess it's the extent of fear and the fact that I've been stung so many times in my life in so many different ways that any time I see a bee I'm afraid it'll sting me. Another interesting thing about bees is the vividness of my memories relating to them. I guess near death experiences have a way of being climatic focuses in life. I'm not sure how many times I've been stung but I remember 4 separate and specific incidences, two particularly life-threatening and two less so. One thing I've learnt about allergies is that for the most part they are something developed and not genetic. I learnt a great deal about venom allergies when I was young because as part of my 'treatment' I was regularly injected with it for I can't even remember how many weeks and months. What I do remember is that no matter how often I had the minutest strain of venom pumped into my arm I reacted badly and in never improved so eventually we gave up the desensitization program and just decided to keep me away from bees. lol Easier said that done. My mother tells me that when I was very young I got stung a lot. I couldn't imagine how at any age I could have been so careless to let something like that be a frequent occurrence. But today I change my estimation. I've learnt perhaps the very young recover too swiftly from such things. My baby boy got stung by a wasp and I was very glad I already knew allergies were not hereditary or I might have panicked. It's actually a very good sign of how well I manage myself these days that I didn't panic. My anxiety level spiked up a few notches but I coped. I evacuated the kids from the living room, opened the windows, closed the curtain and then got the hell out of there hoping the wasp would do the smart thing and use the closed curtains and the open windows as a sign it should get out from between the curtain and the window glass. One other advantage of being allergic to bees is I know how to treat stings. Of course for some reason you can't explain to a two year old that to prevent the venom spreading too much he should sit still and keep his finger above his heart. In fact, my two year old was far too chipper for a little boy with a wasp sting. My heart leapt when I first heard him from the other room where I'd been reading. He cried out in pain and a pain cry is very different from any other cry so I was in there in an instant. The window was slightly ajar so I though maybe it had swung in and snagged his finger which he showed me was the source of his pain. It was swelling with a little welt on the tip. I figured he must have caught it in the window but when I went to shut it the nasty culprit was still inside. I backed away, shuffled the kids out, crept across the room to open the other window, drew the curtains fully closed and then joined the kids with the living room door firmly closed against the miscreant. I settled baby boy on my bed trying to keep him still. He wasn't even crying any more. I dabbed his finger with a dot of detol (antiseptic, anesthetic cream) and watched him like a hawk. Sure the sensible part of me told me that odds were he'd only have a local reaction but the anxiety-heightened overanxious paranoid mother was worrying because if it wasn't only going to be a local reaction then I would be short on time. Anaphylactic shock moves quickly, kills quickly, especially someone as small as a two year old. Of course he wouldn't settle for more than a minute but after watching him for a good fifteen I was sure he'd suffer no more than a swollen finger if I could keep him still. I resorted to putting on a DVD which seemed to keep both kids entertained while I went to see if our visitor had departed via the windows yet. It hadn't. I was a little confounded about what to do with the situation at this point. The kids were safe and technically it was riskier for me to be near the wasp then it was for them. Wasp venom and bee venom is different but I knew from the desensitization that I was as allergic to both so getting stung by the little sucker would be a bad idea. But he wouldn't get out. I nudged the windows further ajar, pulled the curtain back so that he wasn't pushed against the glass and stood out front watching it fly around in circles. And in circles, and in circles. OMG wasps are so dumb. The open window was about two inches to the right if only it would go over the inch of wood that separated the solid front window with the two sets of open-out windows either side. I even sprayed water at the outside of the window hoping to guide its flight elsewhere or entice it for a drink. But all it did was fly, touch the wood go up the wood, touch the top of the window frame, fly to the left, come down, go right, touch the wood... You get the point. I went back into the other room and hung out with the kids for an hour then tried again but it was still there. By now it had stopped doing laps and settled against the glass so I got up the nerve to try a more direct approach. I had a drinking glass and my original intent was to guide it over to the window but I didn't want to risk removing the curtain from between myself and the wasp so I captured it under the glass, under the curtain. This led to a dilemma of sorts because with the curtain in the way I couldn't slide the glass or put something under the glass to hold it in there. My nerves were in tatters because all that stood between me and something very small but very deadly was a glass and a curtain. In the end I decided it was an it or me situation and rolled the glass over it. Part of me feels guilty. I have a dead wasp in a plastic container because I got evil and killed it. *sighs* I know I shouldn't feel guilty but really it wasn't meaning to do any harm. Yes it was stupid but it hadn't intended to come in the window and wouldn't have if my precocious two-year-old hadn't opened the window. It would have left if glass weren't clear and impenetrable. Still, it's a wasp, dead, in a box. I look at it and even knowing its dead and in a box my anxiety spikes again. I watched it for a while after it was dead and its stinger still moves. Isn't that weird? Even dead its stinger pulses trying to sting things. I knew these things are dangerous even after death and thus why its in a box. I'll toss it out tomorrow; probably bury it in a corner of my yard where I won't risk stepping on it. The only reason I've kept it so far is because I wanted to have a good look and a google to find out what kind of wasp it was. Anyway, that was the drama of my day, the excitement of my weekend. What a highlight huh? Near death experience? Oh and baby boy? Finger isn't even swollen now. How's that for irony. His mother could die from a wasp sting and he has a local reaction that lasted maybe three or four hours. I guess the real trouble is this is his first at two years old. Sure I'm super cautious about avoiding these things for both me and my kids but its perfect timing to begin developing an allergy. I'm pretty sure the episode hasn't even taught him to fear and not touch flying stinging creatures. He's far too curious and outgoing for his (and my) wellbeing. You know, for someone allergic to these tiny insects I've had a lot of episodes with them in my lifetime. It reminds me of a couple of years back when we found a nest of them in the kitchen. Which reminds me of another occasion when one invaded the bedroom. *ponders* I'm starting to think it's time I invested in refitting all of my windows. Get ones that slide and have fly screens fitted. If only insurance would cover 'potential death from insect invasion'. |
| It's late and I don't care. I'd rather be curled up in bed where the horizontal position can counter the queasiness in my stomach and the pillow cushions my migraine. But, I have to blog so I'm going to toss some words here and call it done. It's strange being sick. I don't like it. Every noise is amplified. That means it's very loud because no matter how sick I am I can't convince my kids to be quiet for more than a half minute at a time and the effort it takes to shush them is more painful than the noise. Every sound hammers through my head and nothing seems to ease the tenseness of every muscle in my body. My mind is fuzzy. Even stringing enough words together to constitute a blog entry is a struggle and considering the way I can ramble that's a real sign of how sick I am. It wanders too and fro, I can't keep a topic on my mind for more than a minute at a time but thankfully I can kinda wander and then bring my focus back smetimes. But really, why bother, I wrote, now I'm going to go be miserable in bed where I can lay down and fight of the desire to hurl up the nothingness in my belly. |
| There is an exercise from Pen on Fire by Barbara DeMarco-Barrett that I've been putting off doing for a few days now and I've finally decided to settle in and get it done. I'm using this blog entry as an excuse because I couldn't think of any other interesting topics to ramble about and I guess I can kill two writes with one session here. "Invalid Post"  A few months ago I dreamed one of my rare dreams. Again it wasn't something for a story and it wasn't really something that related to real life or an internal issues. It was a room, a beautiful haven where I could write, an office of my own. I wandered through my dream, a visualization of what I would really love to create for myself. The building was located conveniantly in my back yard. It was build of beautiful jarrah timbers from floor to ceiling and had large glass windows and a single glass sliding door facing the house. The windows looked out on vista's grass on one side, a water garden on another and on the third a small flower garden lovingly tended by my children. In the flower garden was a small mushroom-shaped, brightly painted cement table with toadstool chairs. My kids could sit with their drawing in the fractured sunlight under a white sunshade. The grass on the opposite side of the building was lush and green. It looked soft and smelt freshly cut with enough room to kick a ball around. The water garden was an array of rocks and ceramic animals and birds surrounding a lagoon like pond with waterfall and fountain. The water shattered over the rocks and tumbled into the water where giant koi fish swam lazily beneath a mesh casement. Inside the room the wood is polished a glorious honey-gold. In one corner a soft, fluffy rug covers the floor and bright embroidered pillows are scattered in haphazard piles, a bean bag and a lazy chair create a circle of warm and sunlight bounces into the corner creating a halo of light and harmony. A small coffee table partitions the rest of the room from the little reading and relaxing nook. Against one wall, looking out over the flower garden, are two mahogany desks. On one is my desktop computer and my various awry of papers and books stacked in chaotic piles. On the shelf above the monitor there are basic reference books quick to hand and down the side is a collection of disks and flash drives. The chair is a large, comfortable black leather on wheels with a bright yellow cushion and under the table is a matching footstool, my sandle slotted beneath them as I wander the room barefoot. On the other desk is my closed laptop and more books and papers as well as two opened notepads and an exercise book. Beneath the desk the three drawers pull out to reveal a filing cabinet lined with folders, neatly labelled. A pin board is against the wall near this desk that has a few scraps of paper, quotes, outlines, and various other codes I keep nearby for reference and inspiration as well as a calender with various dates circled for future publication events. The longest wall, with no windows is a ranged bookshelf. It's covered with books of all sorts and there is one section in the middle that's got books with my own name on the spine. The shelf above and below have various awards and photographs displaying my accomplishments and in the cabinet below are a couple of boxes where I keep spare copies of my own books to give away. There is a three seater floral lounge chair with it's back facing the shelves that looks out the sliding door upon the water feature and in the far corner a rocking recliner faces the window overlooking the grass. Beside the recliner is a simple counter and bar fridge with a few kitchen amenities where I can poor myself a hot cup of tea or a cool glass of soda. The room is specifically designed for relaxation while writing. With the laptop I can take position anywhere in the room and write or take my work out with me whereever I go. There are pictures on the walls and the room emenates a creative aura of warmth and vibrant spirit. This is my office, with a portable phone and internet access, a revered collection of books, and a chaotic and yet harmonied environment for me to write in. A place of inspiration, where I can leave the family life and come to work but within reach of the conveniences of home. |
| I was chatting away earlier today as I frequently do when out of no where I was brutally attacked by a rogue pair of denim size 3 shorts. They caught me unawares and while my reflexes were speedy enough to catch the stray clothing they failed to prevent an almost full can of lemonade from upending all over myself, the floor and my keyboard. Yes, the sort of thing nightmares are made of isn't it? The two year old miscreant responsible for the dead was no where to be seen which was perhaps lucky for him. Also perhaps lucky for my keyboard because instead of seeking him out to throttle him I swiftly moved to salvage the device before the icky stickiness laid siege to my much loved electronics. How many of you have had occasion to open up your keyboards? I know it's the sort of thing few casual users would ever bother to do. Thankfully I've had interest in having intimate knowledge of the internal workings of my computer so in the past I'd pulled apart and successfully restored keyboards similar to my current one. This one is a rare and special keyboard however and only today I came to understand it's uniqueness. On the box this keyboard came in it had something along the lines of dust and dirt resistant or something equally unfathomable. I remember thinking it odd when I was setting up my computer a few months ago but not enough to investigate. I mean ok, dust and dirt resistant, how could a computer keyboard be so innovative and clever? It didn't really matter so long as it would willingly type qwerty when I demanded. Anyway, I rummaged in my supply of do-it-yourself handy-chicks tool box and found the right size and shaped screwdriver. Ah ha! Yes a woman who actually knows you use a screwdriver and not a wrench to unscrew screws. *grins* I set about on the eight screws that hold the keyboard together, placing them in my screw map (learnt that technique from the first Lara Croft Tomb Raider movie) and opened it up. To my horror hundreds of little rubber bits scattered everywhere and lemonade dripped down my wrists. I'd already soaked up a fair puddle with a towel so I set about wiping down the rest of the sopping mess, getting into the grooves, lifted away the wiring sheet and set it all aside to dry. It was as it dried that I came to realize why this new keyboard was unique. These rubber things were all designed to slot into each of the keys to trigget the electronics. Each key had a rubber thing and even more interesting was the keys were actually on a separate base and thus why dust and dirt could be more advantageously restrained from the electronics of they device. It did however make for even more time consuming cleaning as I pried each key and cleaned and dried them all and then the plastic hub of all this activity before putting it all back together. Then came the time consuming task of placing rubber things over the backs of each key, in place, and not risk knocking them all awry again with a simple clumsy movement. Then with more agile skill getting the back of the keyboard in place with all parts accounted for. Thankfully with everything screwed back together it continued to work perfectly. Which was good because the last time I had a lemonade incident with a keyboard I didn't clean it right away figuring that lemonade would dry and that would be that only to find that the inside of keyboards rust. Yes, you heard me, the electronic pads inside keyboards rust. My favorite keyboard had to go to the keyboard grave of my spare parts bin because of rust thanks to spilt lemonade. I would suppose all this might teach me to not eat or drink around my keyboard. pfft AS IF! I practically live here, I'd sleep here if they invented soft padded keyboards that don't leave dents in my head. I'd die of thirst if I couldn't drink while at my computer. Thus, another reason I taught myself how to clean and repair it all and why I try to refrain from being subjected to the attacks of clothing or two year olds. If only such terror two year olds would learn the intricacies of computer keyboards so they'd know better then to upend cans of lemonade on them. *frowns* It's ok, I bide my time, before much longer he'll be a computer genius, just like his mother.  |
So it's not even 9PM yet and ♥~HermyKitteh~♥  is on and on my ass trying to hurry up my blog entry. Admittedly I do need to get it down so I can get on with some real writing tonight after Charmed. But really, Charmed comes first. It's the only show on TV I just HAVE to watch each week. Everything else, even Smallville is optional and I barely watch anything at all these days.Today I started off feeling deflated again, like I've been feeling for a while now. But by about noon I forced myself to at least make half an effort and in the afternoon got out of the house for an hour. It's amazing how much some fresh air and a new perspective can improve mood. It also helps to have some great friends. Mine encouraged me and pushed me and talked with me and we managed to deal with an underlying issue that I realize now probably had a huge impact on my mood. I'd been pushing myself against a wall of denial and when it comes to the creative mind of a write it's not something that ever seems to work out. For some reason we have these characters within us, certain tales to tell and at any one time they can be on the fore of our thoughts. No matter how hard we might try to put aside one story for another the characters can be on the perifery shouting and drowning out everything else. For me I found it impossible to get inspired by anything, to concentrate or feel even happy about any aspect of my career and I realise now it's because I was trying to step on the wrong path. *grins* Yeah I'm talking around the issue because I don't really want to talk about it. Lets just say that I'm regaining a focus and allowing myself down a path I'd been denying myself. The good news is that I feel strengthed already and it's easier to face as this mood lifts. I can't put everything down to this turnabout but I hope it'll stay with me over the coming week at least. Of course it means that I need to get writing. Actually I'm still watching Charmed but yeah well, I'm watching Charmed, shush already would ya? *winks and chuckles* Ok, ad break, where was I? Some gibberish and ramble. Not sure really. I should start trying to have blog entries that are actually interesting or follow a topic. In fact I came up with a bunch of bloggable topics via Pen On Fire the other day. Perhaps I'll give one of those a go tomorrow. Meanwhile tonight this stuff will do. Lots to do, never enough time. |
| *sighs* Isn't it interesting how mood can shift dramatically from one moment to the next, from one day to another, from a single thought to the next? We bounce away on the see saw of life never knowing which moment will be up or when we'll come slamming down hard, the shock of the abrupt landing jolting up our tailbones and along the spine. Yesterday I was feeling pretty good. Secure in the fact that life goes irreparably onward. That's just life isn't it? From one moment to the next it's gone behind us and there are no second chances. Which gets kind of depressing when you think about it from the wrong frame of mind. Of course melancholic thoughts sends us into spirals of doubt and defeat. We mope over the opportunities in life that have already passed by and ultimately the wallowing involved leads to more wasted moments. A lot of people face today with a great deal of hope. New Years Day, isn't it by definition supposed to make us look forward to the year ahead? I find more often than not I look backward at the year just past and face the fact that while there has probably been a great deal that occurred this year, the true fact is that 365 days have passed and I'm about where I was at this time, this day, last year. Older, wiser perhaps, but still staring at the same screen, the same walls, feeling the same turmoil of emotions. Does life really change year by year, day by day? It's strange to think that two days ago as we approached this point I was talking about how each day is a turning point. How regardless of the tolling of 2006 rolling into 2007 one day to the next is no different then any other day to the next. The important thing is to go into this new day with a smile and the determination to make THIS day count. But how often do we really do that? We go to sleep with good intentions but in the hazy light of the morning it all just feels too hard, too insurmountable. I look around and feel trapped by circumstance. Sometimes it doesn't feel like there are any choices. I mean, I know there are, I could choose just to not bother getting up and sometimes I do. But in a greater picture there aren't magic doorways to step through that would make one choice matter more than another. There are no fairy godmothers to wave her magic wand and send me to the ball. There are no princes riding white horses to rescue me from the tower of reality. It's all just a steady onward trudge through life. Step by step, one foot in front of the other, the way I face a long walk home after a busy day. I guess I should stop looking at the bigger picture and focus on the little things. It's really the little things we have power over isn't it? It's time to stop berating myself over the things that have come and gone and focus on the importance of each step. Without the first there never would be a second. To reach either we have to get up and be prepared to walk, be prepared to face the challenges along the way with the dedication to each individual step. It's time to stop counting how many steps there are to go and perhaps pay more attention to how many steps we've already accomplished. *sighs* Of course all this is far easier to talk/write about then it is to put into practice. It's easier to say then it is to do. My heart weighs heavy tonight and a part of my yearns to turn to the strong arms of someone who just isn't there. Interesting how vital human contact sometimes seems when you have no one to reach out to. Yep, I'm in a pathetic sappy mood tonight. It's definately time to get out of my head. |
| I went to the library yesterday and borrowed a handful of books about writing. I do that occasionally. I also have a shelf full of writing books and from time to time I invest in more books about writing. I devour as much as I can. When it comes to writing I know a fantastic amount of theory. Putting it into practice is something different. lol Anyway, I was reading this latest book. It's called "Pen On Fire" by Barbara DeMarco-Barrett and is toted as: "a busy woman's guide to igniting the writer within". I have to say that it certainly lives up to both it's title and it's cover blurbs. This book is filled with short, easy to read and completely relatable chapters and at the end of each chapter there are fanastic 15 minute writing prompts. I'm almost finished the book but had to take a break to ensure I get my blog written before midnight. I'm doing well time wise on that behalf. It'll be New Years soon. Only 1 hour and 20 minutes until 2007. But the house is quit, the light ahead is a little bright and the screen glares. I'm tired, but I have to blog and I want to finish reading this book. I'm feeling really encouraged and inspired. This is often how I feel when I read books about writing. When I'm mellow and full of self doubt about my direction in life I take up a book about writing and reenergise myself and my believe in my ability. There are some fantastic books that do this brilliantly and "Pen On Fire" is one of them. In fact, the books inspired me so much I'm trying to spread my inspiration. *chuckles* Last night I thought, "Wow, I should get a chat room full of us together doing these exercises." So today I did. The chat room at the time only had me, Anyea and tirzahlaughs in it but I convinced them both to give it a go and so we wrote for the first prompt in the book for the 15 minutes given, together.I put together a forum where we could each share our work. Later today I encouraged rain and Fizzgig to give it a shot and joined them for that one. I also posted the one I wrote last night when I first read the exercise. All of them are posted at: "Invalid Item" and I invite anyone who's looking to reignite their writing to join us there and take part in the challenges. If you want to do it together let me know and I'll break out 15 minutes to do it with you.  Each day I plan to add and complete a new exercise from the book. Each of these exercises and reading the chapters have really inspired me and shown me the multitude of material we have in our lives to draw from. The book talks about many of the aspects we as writers face that hinder our desire to write. For me this book comes at a time when I need to hear it most. I've often found that with books. Right when I need one it lands in my hands from somewhere. Each time I read a book it highlights something unique that I needed to hear NOW. I could read the same book over and over and get something new that I missed before but need to hear today. I've almost finished reading Pen On Fire and I have a notepad blooming with prompts and concepts and lists. It's even settled me into focusing on a new project. With Flight of Torque on the wayside for the time being I had to find a drive to begin a new novel to focus on. Something that challenges me but captures the essence of why I want to write. Not something I write just because I want my writing to make money but something that touches the core of why I'm a writer and allows me to express my passion for language in a topic I truly love to write. The concept is starting small. It will take a lot of brain storming and I'm not sure it's the right one yet. There are so many ideas in my mind churning away thanks to this book I'm reading. I know as I give them time to do their thing I'll find and develop something that will be right. Now, time to finish reading the book. *grins* G'night, Happy New Year Everyone and come check out "Invalid Item" |
| Ok, um... hard to believe but apparently people are missing me. I know I'm missing me so I suppose it shouldn't be so hard to believe. I've no idea where I've been but I'm resolving to return, now. OMG I'm seriously attempting to procrastinate and procrastinate. For some reason I'm truly struggling to bring myself to do anything lately and that includes blogging. I'm not sure what the cause is exactly but I do know it HAS to stop. My whole life will get wasted away in moments that I didn't bother to make count for whatever reason. Yeah that seems rather dramatic and all encompassing but it is kinda what I've been feeling lately. Too often though my life so far what I've wanted in life has been put aside and aside by inconsiquential things. It perpetuates a strange cycle of disappointment and self-contempt that I've as yet failed to step out of. Even writing this blog my mind distracts me with so many other things, large and small that I could do instead. Like noticing a calender that's not flipped to the right date. Listening to a story in the chat room. Listening and singing along to music. (I can't type and sing at the same time unless I'm typing what I'm singing.) Writing lists, doing other things on my list, reading, watching a movie, basically a part inside me WANTS to do whatever it is I'm NOT doing right now. I have to force myself, truly FORCE myself to sit here and FINISH this, NOW, and nothing else. It's a battle, and I fight and fight against the urge to be distracted. I am however determined, and I reaffirm my determination repeatedly. Anyone who's been with my blog a while have noticed the regularity of my reaffirmations. Perhaps I should track it and find out exactly how many minutes it takes to derail my determination each time I build it up and dedicate myself to sticking to it? You know it gets me thinking about New Year's Resolutions. I don't make them myself. Because I've always believed that resolutions should have to wait till the new year. You can resolve at any time, any day, every year. In every moment of my life I resolve to be a better person then I was in the moment before it. At this time of year people decide to make a New Year's Resolution to quit smoking. I think, if you're going to quit smoking quit NOW, this minute. Not at the end of your last pack, not at the end of the year, month, week, day, NOW. This moment. Not one last cigarette, not one every few hours instead of every hour. NOW! That's how I did it, 9 years ago. I can't even remember which day it was, just some day I decided that was is. I tossed the smokes in the bin and never smoked again. 9 years later I still crave and get withdrawl if I see someone smoking, if I smell someone smoking. I can pick smokers out of crowds of people I can point to someone smoking even if they're meters away from me. But I decided and never again did I smoke from that moment forward. *ponders* It makes me wonder why everything else in my life doesn't seem to be like that? How could I successfully decide never to smoke again and do it. Maintain willpower despite all the challenges that have come and gone but when it comes to some of the most important things in my life I can't seem to hold true to my dreams and desires. But I'm back, determined to maintain daily blogs. I've done it in the past, I know I can do it. So long as I hold myself accountable. I dedicate myself to the fact that I'll write here, every day, before I sleep. So long as it's done before Midnight every night I'll be successful. That is my goal. No more putting it off until the morning. No more saying, "not tonight". No MORE! NOW! And from this moment forth I will write, daily. |
| It's 2AM and I'm not sleeping, again. *frowns* It's been perhaps a month of nights like this, when part of me is so very tired, another part is wide awake, and somewhere within there is a part of me afraid to sleep. I don't know what's causing the insomnia, I don't recall ever suffering it like this before. I've faced sleeplessness on manic highs but never extending like this into other moodsets and regardless of everything I do. I know a great deal has to do with lax discipline. Sleeping for me is like everything else. It happens when I stop, and sleep. It happens when I decide to put aside everything else, turn off, close my eyes and let the darkness decend. I also know how important sleep is to keeping my moods stable. I usually stick strictly to my self-imposed midnight curfew but I've been letting myself get away with staying up late. Giving in to the excuses and the fear. Some nights I stay up, and up, and up until eventually I fall asleep completely unaware that I was falling asleep. I pass out unable to remain awake. I thought coming off caffeine would make me sleep better. It doesn't seem to have accomplished anything and I'm still craving caffeine. I'm getting headaches that are probably the result of my shockingly bad sleep pattern or lack thereof. I can't concentrate which is perhaps another side effect. How do I come to a point where I can understand what motivates this inner urging not to sleep? What is it pushing me to stay awake, and awake? What drives and fuels this fear? What am I really afraid of? It's not even that I'm trying to accomplish anything. It's not like when I'm manic high and doing everything at once and wizzing through it all. These nights I'm mostly in zombie mode, existing but not really here at all. More often then not depression decends and I start focusing on aspects of my life that aren't perfect. I notice how many of them there are. Normally I'm very upbeat about life and it's purpose and my reason for being. But in this dark hour, when I'm alone with my thoughts and the eerie light of my TV, book lamp, or monitor I'm left to wander the barren hallways of my mind. It's times like this I come to realise how alone I am. How cut off from the world I keep myself. I ache for human interaction, a sense of belonging, and being a part of something. My kids are perhaps the deepest connection to a world outside of myself I have. When I think my existence doesn't particularly matter I force myself to consider them and what I mean to their life. It's pretty pathetic that my rocks in life are a beautiful six year old girl and an adorable two year old boy. I cling, because without them I can't imagine existing. Being alone in the dark with my thoughts is a bad and dangerous place to be. I can't understand why it feels like my mind would rather be here, then in the bliss of sleep. Deep in the realm beyond conscious thought where nothing but calm, peace, and rest exist. Beyond the dream world where I sleep in oblivion and wake refreshed and renewed. Wouldn't giving myself to slumber be better then being awake to the inner demons that haunt my waking dreams? I escape into books, and movies. Freeing myself from the ghosts within by escaping into fantasy. I've done it all my life. It's perhaps one of the reasons I love to write. I also know that I'm technically a night owl and have only kept sane hours because of my kids. If I had the option I'd be up writing at this hour and sleep all day. Perhaps that's what's going on here, my mind and body are urging me to take the opportunity to use these late hours while I can because in a month my oldest will be back and school and reality will again force me to face the sunlight. I don't think that's it however. I think there must be something deeper. I scrounge trying to find the root of the issue but it seems to be beyond me. I hide myself well behind this wall and even finding truth within myself is difficult. It's like wandering in a hedge maze full of traps. To wander the weaves, dead ends, wrong turns, and blocks in my mind. What's worse is it's a maze that has no beginning or end, and I just keep running, and running, searching, searching but there isn't an answer and there isn't a way out, it's all just... maze... *grimaces* OMG stream of consciousness when I'm existing on the fumes of reality is a bit scary. I know in this moment I could probably face myself, confront the inner me in the mirror and acknowledge what is real. But to do so would leave me open, wounded, undefended. I've lived in the cage of my life too long already, I don't yet have the courage to step out of it. So I tell myself again, "not today" and I tell myself, "maybe tomorrow". Tomorrow I'll probably tell myself the same thing. Who knows if someday will ever come. It is not today. |
| I was enjoying a long catch up session in "Writer's Fallout Shelter" tonight. The Shelter has lots of wonderful back and fourth on writing related topics between a wide range of experience. I always enjoy my trips in there and come away with a great deal of insight into the writing world as well as having had the opportunity to add my own POV to the converstaions. The topics are wide ranging but all writing based. Anyway, one of the topics that game up was "Why are you afraid to write?" Talked about in the post, "Writing is scary" . Holly Jahangiri and Lori Basiewicz  challenged us to write an essay and I figured a stream of consciousness blog entry would do just as well. It's probably a topic I've covered in the past. It's definately something I've faced time and again but I suspect while many of my reasons are still the same today I'll have another opportunity to dust the cobwebs of my fears from the nooks of my mind and appreciate how they hold me back from the success I aspire to.Why Am I Afraid To Write? I recently had to face this fear when Forge and I started working on The Flight of Torque. Every day my turn would arrive. I would be fired up, inspired, and eager. Then I'd sit there, frozen in fear, my stomach churning in anxiety, my breath fast and my mind spinning, leaping about, fluttering, and buzzing like a hive of bee's. Anxiety attack. I can't really understand it. It wasn't at that point a fear of success or even a fear of failure. I was staring at a blank page, fearing the beginning.After we got started it wasn't as difficult but it continues to be haunting. I can procrastinate all day long out of fear of beginning. The blank page. I stare at it, put it aside and until I reach the point where I decide to put everything else aside, and just WRITE! It overwhelms me. I suppose a great deal of it has to do with a lack of confidence. I know I have some fantastic ideas. Some brilliant concepts, masterful plots, intriguing charactions, all vying for room on the pages of what I write. A part of me quavers under a fear of ineffectualism. How could I possibly be the writer to manifest such wonderous things effectively? I battle this fear with the arguement that if I don't write them, who will? If I don't write them they'll never be written which would be more horrific them if I do a terrible job of it. I'm afraid of not having the power to follow a project through. I'm afraid that I'll start a project and it'll be brilliant but that I'll never be able to complete it. I've done this in fact. I've got too many projects already running that if I start something new it will be another reason those don't get completed. I know I need to focus on finishing what's already going on in my life, in my head, in my work or nothing will ever reach fruition. I'm afraid of writing something brilliant and not ever having the confidence in myself to know it's great. I'm afraid that even if it's good I'll beat it to death because I can't see how good it is. I constantly wonder if I'm destroying what works by overanalysing it all. That's one of the things that's holding me back from the second draft of The Dating Game. I hate it. The basic story is there but the rest, I hate, and I'm so afraid to pull it apart because I'm afraid none of it is salvagable. I'm afraid that perhaps it's not as bad as I think and I'm going to strip it to shreds editing it and make it worse then it already is. I'm afraid I'll never be able to make it any better then the crud it is now. I'm afraid I'm inept as a writer. I'm afraid the story just isn't there to support it and I really worry that I don't have the ability, the knowledge, the experience to make it a great story. I'm afraid that if I do write something well and get published my expectations will rise to a new level that I couldn't possibly master. If I sell something then I'd have to continue to sell. If I make a real income from my writing I'd lose my pension and either have to continue producing and selling my writing at a steady pace or resort to getting a day job. I worry that taking on the mantle of writer will bring a degree of fame that will have people getting into my life. I'm afraid that I'll lose my right to remain ellusive and hide in my hermatige-like lifestyle. I'm afraid that to succeed I'll have to reach out and trust others, with my work, with myself, with my reputation and my money and my life. I'm afraid by opening myself in trusting others I'll be hurt, betrayed, abused, used, degraded. I'm afraid people will tear apart what I put my heart, soul, sweet, blood and tears into for so many days and weeks of my life. I'm afraid that if people love it they'll want to produce something more of it. I'm afraid of having people change my writing. I'm afraid of having fans writing epic fanfiction about it and completely altering my character and my world and my concepts. I'm afraid of my works being turned into the inspiration for pornography and other sick fetishes (Have you noticed Harry Potter porn is on the rise?) I'm afraid that it could be taken into other languages and badly translated. I'm afraid someone will buy the rights to make it a movie and completely transform it into a mere shadow of itself (see Eragon rant below). I'm afraid words will never do justice to the wonderous stories in my mind. I'm afraid I don't know enough about people in this world to write respectable, believeable characters. I worry that I have very little life experience and too much theory experience. I'm terrified I'll never find a niche to write comfortably in a specific genre or I'll get marked into a genre I don't want to write. I'm afraid I'll be judged by my writing and found wanting. I'm afraid people will hate me as a person simply because they disagree with what I write. I'm afraid that I'll fail to express my point of view clearly. I'm afraid... *sighs* You know what I've just come to realise? I'm afraid of living my entire life doing nothing because I'm always too afraid. Fear is a terrible deterrent to joy in life. I realise that everything I'm afraid if is beyond my control. There is nothing I can do about how people will react to what I write. There isn't even anything I can do about the quality of my writing. It won't improve by not writing. It's pointless to suffer these rediculous fears. It doesn't make the fear go away to know this, but it makes it easier, to push past them, and just go and write. Time to crank up Enya, blasting in my ears, and put words onto a blank page. |
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