I'm Going to Buy A Zoo

It's been a crazy whirlwind of Christmas, visiting family, relatives, long distance phone calls, dinners, outings, shopping, preparing for the new semester and recovering from the previous semester.  And not once have I felt a moment to myself.  Honestly... it's degrading me a little bit and I've been finding myself in a surly mood that has only compounded upon itself a little more every day.  This helps, though. 

I did enjoy my Christmas very much.  Seeing my daughter experience this time of year for the first time has been exciting, and I'm sure I've been borderline obsessive about making sure everything revolved around her and what made her happy.  Or what I perceive makes her happy.  But this time of year to me has always held a magical dream of happiness and enlightenment which is something I very much want her to experience as well.  So I think I added that stress and diminished my own free time trying to go above and beyond.

Now that things are (slowly) dying down, I am looking forward to the Write-a-thon coming up in my schedule.  This is a new project that I am hoping will kick-start my creativity, my writing mode and voice, as well as give me some new nuggets of wisdom to share.  I'm not completely sure of the details as of yet (stay tuned for those), but it will occur before the semester begins and I know it will probably drive me insane and eventually to an epiphany of creativity for my mind.  But not without a little bloodshed on my part (no, not in the literal sense.  Rituals of that kind are a little medieval to me).

So let me gather together the great minds I need to surround myself with and collaborate with my subconscious on how to go about attempting and outlining my Write-a-thon.  It won't be big to you, but I do believe some preparation is in order.  I'm scaring myself more than I need to, but perhaps that is a necessary emotion.  It's time I move ahead and buy a zoo. 

Writing Is Creating That Feast For the Soul

The best part, for the writers, is getting to lick that batter-filled spoon that no one else will get.  Only we know the secret ingredients that put everything together for them.  Only we know how long, or how quickly, we were able to craft it, and only we know the pain of simmering, baking, or slow-roasting it to perfection.  We're the ones who get burned, who retched after that first batch (which we hid in the breadbox behind Aunt Marva's salted sugar cookies from last holiday season), who sampled the finished product in our sleep thereby birthing the masterpiece before attempting to make it tangible. 

Only we, the writers, understand what it costs of our souls and our thoughts and ultimately, ourselves, to write for someone else to read.  For someone else to sample, taste, and experience.  And we await their response, with bated breath, hoping the best, fearing the worst, and petrified of whatever answer they give. 

I meant to simply make an appearance.  I wanted to announce that I'm alive, though I wish I weren't; rather, that I would choose to skip the week, as it is my finals for the semester.  However, I've been moved to talk about the desire to create and why it is that I love it so much.  It is never easy, and not once have I noticed a painless endeavor in my writing.  Carefree, perhaps, but never painless.  Yet I still love it so. 

I think perhaps that the need to create, the need to share myself overwhelms me and I must write.  Perhaps, even more, it is because for my entire life most everyone claimed they could not understand me, who I am, and how I think.  Perhaps, it is to connect to them, and ultimately, myself.  If I write, perhaps then, they will finally understand me, who I am, and how I think.  Perhaps.  In the meantime, it is nice to keep the mystery about me.  This works to my advantage when I desire the element of surprise.

If only the realm of surprise wasn't so lonely at times. 

When I write in French

...I tend to find myself inspired to write in English.  Unfortunately, I am also inspired to write in French, but I never feel like I can fully convey what it is I wish to say in English much less French so the process is much slower and exponentially more frustrating. 

I am counting down the days to the end of the semester eagerly and am now sitting at 12 days and counting.  I find it amusing that I've been wishing and striving to go to school for so long and now that I am 12 days away from the end of this semester, I realize how much I wish I was finished and moving on with more important things.  I feel like I've been in school for forever and now I am just hitting myself with very heavy, very expensive volumes of information and I am exhausted in an old feeble kind-of way.  Yes, I know how literary that sounded. 

I recently turned 29 (ancient, yes) and now that I have a daughter and I am attempting to write my novel, I am finding school more of an intrusion.  I look forward to next semester, however, and I am almost in longing for it.  I have signed up for Creative Writing and Introduction to Literature: Short Story and Novel.  You have no idea the joy this brings me.  Finally, I will feel like I am in my element.  Finally, I will exist alongside books and dust and prissy cats that live under the librarian's desk.  I will be able to read books (textbooks don't count for me anymore) and write about them.  Even more, I will be able to write creatively!  My heart leaps and dances with joy at this thought! 

So 12 days.  I can hold out right? I'm going through writer's withdrawals.  I find myself staying up later and later to research something, anything about my projects and I try to get something onto paper.  More often than not, I don't have time which is more than frustrating.  I cling to the thought that in less than 2 weeks I will have my mind back, my sanity back (someone stole that weeks ago), and my creativity time back.

I will also have my daughter to play with and enjoy.  She will be eight months in two days and I already feel as if I missed so much.  There are too many things in life to obstruct your view from what your heart desires.  We just have to keep working at it until our path is clear.  And this last part is fairly stubborn and mean. 

I promise I will blog more about books and writing when my thoughts are less obstructed.  Until, enjoy Santa's new ride.