It seems like if you do some living it's easier to write. Blogging gets old after a while. You do it because you know people read it, and they want to know what's going on in your life. Personally, I don't have anything to say if I can't do some living and then some reflection. I've been cranking out blogs because I know a few people I care about read them. I don't want you to read something unimportant though. Not that anything I have to say is ever that important. But it should be personal. I guess. Yeah, it should be personal for sure.
I'm moving to Hattiesburg in less than a month. I'm going to try to write some stories and learn how to get better at storytelling in general. Scary as hell, sort of, but not really. I mean if the whole thing comes crashing down and sucks, I can pack it up and know it's not for me. I just don't think that's the case, though. I don't think I'd be okay with going down there and things not being okay. Writing, reading, learning...it means way too damn much to me. I used to want to be in a hardcore band. Yeah, I know, right. I wanted that whole thing to be my vocation at least for a while. Four years later and all I want to do is write. Say something important with the word. I guess, important. Maybe the better word for it is heartbreaking. Say something heartbreaking. A good book is like a good relationship with a person. It's vulnerable, capable of breaking your heart, scalping it, sharing something with you that takes you aback, makes you thank God that He hears you when you pray. That's why I read.
Lately, for similar reasons, I've been spending time with some folks. I've taken upon the reputation of the "flake" over the years. Never committing to time with anyone, always bitching about how I want to be alone. And I do, very much, want to be alone, a lot. But I need people. I need their lives so I can borrow from them. I know that sounds awfully parasitic and selfish, but it would only be so if I didn't find the whole thing so precious. The wine with a friend three times your age. Hearing their stories from the first half of life. Taking note of it, knowing they've had their hearts broken, and jarred, and that they've made it to age 65. That is precious, that means the world to me. That's worth borrowing from.
I'm ready for something other than the bookstore. Something other than knowing my mom's house is less than a half hour away. Some place called mine. That has my things in it and no one else's. I guess I can only really have that if I ever buy a house. But you get the point. Striking out, doing the important stuff, the stuff you'll do maybe until you die.
I seriously need to go write fiction. Right this second. So I will.
I'm moving to Hattiesburg in less than a month. I'm going to try to write some stories and learn how to get better at storytelling in general. Scary as hell, sort of, but not really. I mean if the whole thing comes crashing down and sucks, I can pack it up and know it's not for me. I just don't think that's the case, though. I don't think I'd be okay with going down there and things not being okay. Writing, reading, learning...it means way too damn much to me. I used to want to be in a hardcore band. Yeah, I know, right. I wanted that whole thing to be my vocation at least for a while. Four years later and all I want to do is write. Say something important with the word. I guess, important. Maybe the better word for it is heartbreaking. Say something heartbreaking. A good book is like a good relationship with a person. It's vulnerable, capable of breaking your heart, scalping it, sharing something with you that takes you aback, makes you thank God that He hears you when you pray. That's why I read.
Lately, for similar reasons, I've been spending time with some folks. I've taken upon the reputation of the "flake" over the years. Never committing to time with anyone, always bitching about how I want to be alone. And I do, very much, want to be alone, a lot. But I need people. I need their lives so I can borrow from them. I know that sounds awfully parasitic and selfish, but it would only be so if I didn't find the whole thing so precious. The wine with a friend three times your age. Hearing their stories from the first half of life. Taking note of it, knowing they've had their hearts broken, and jarred, and that they've made it to age 65. That is precious, that means the world to me. That's worth borrowing from.
I'm ready for something other than the bookstore. Something other than knowing my mom's house is less than a half hour away. Some place called mine. That has my things in it and no one else's. I guess I can only really have that if I ever buy a house. But you get the point. Striking out, doing the important stuff, the stuff you'll do maybe until you die.
I seriously need to go write fiction. Right this second. So I will.
posted by Ellis at 6:50 PM
2 Comments:
You made me laugh and cry with this post. Don't stop. I'll always read them. I think I'm still hormonal, but that's the story of my life, isn't it? I love you so much. Thanks for 11 years of beautiful friendship, for being an amazing confidant to my husband, and for loving my daughter so much. I know this is cheese and you're going to laugh at me; I don't care. I needed to say it and maybe you needed to hear it. Don't publish the comment if you don't want to. You're going to do great as you start this new chapter (aren't I clever with my wording, as you're a writer? haha. This was way to long for a comment.
Never mind about not publishing it, you don't moderate your comments. Delete it or whatever, if you want. Sorry if it embarrassed you (also the story of our lives).
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