January 19, 2010

Somedays I pretend to be a writer...

"What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach." -Logan Pearsall Smith

I want to write. I need to write. Obviously, I can write because that seems to be what I'm doing right now. What I mean is I want to write a story or poem; actually, I want to write anything that isn't me rambling on and on. I want to write something brilliant and provoking. Right now my brilliance is having a hard time shining brighter than a night-light.

Life hasn't gotten any better. The shit-storm that is my life just keeps dumping on me. Which is ok... I mean everyone goes through crappy times. It makes us stronger, better, and other bullshit things we tell ourselves to make it more bearable.

But, what really has made life more bearable for me in the past is writing. Ex dumps you? Write heartbreaking stories, exaggerate everything you feel. Pissed at someone? Kill them off in a story and make it bloody. Worried about someone? They can become the hero and their problems are fixed.

This time I'm staring at my word processor till my eyes want to bleed. I have plenty of story material. Morpheus, the nightmares, and the mean reds have given me plenty of fodder. I know what the story should feel like. I know where I want it to go. I just can't grab onto the words and take it there.

Until next time, frustration is the word of the day.