My name? If you knew that, you'd be as clever as me.
-XXXX from the movie "Layer Cake"
I did it! I did it! (Yes, late... but I did it!)
With that being said, let me share with you exactly what I did.
- Everything At Least Once was updated with a post about Hello Kitty Spumante wine.
- Stoically Challenged was updated with a story called Memories of a Dancer (Homework Assignment #23).
- The Curly Muse was updated with a tiny coffee shop scene that just came to mind at the moment when I couldn't think of anything else.
And now... it's time for AUGUST!!!
I had a lovely day today else I would have done this post earlier. My friend is in town from Colorado (everyone say hi to Alithea S - and like I said before, her birthday is August 10th so send her awesome wishes whether in person or out to the universe... I'm sure she'll get them), and I'm spending time with her before she goes back. Today her family threw a hugetastically and tasty BBQ for family and friends to see her. I need to make it out to Colorado one of these days when my pocketbook allows since I feel like I'm the only one that hasn't gone out there since she moved.
But that's neither here nor there for the moment.
I always mean to make these posts solely about writing, but then I start rambling about life crap that is going on, and I contemplate about deleting those parts after writing them, but I always end up keeping them. They are, after all, about my writing in some way.
A lot of the time life gets in the way of the things I want to do - like writing. Life can be many things like family, friends, work, or just a general crummy mood. (And I totally doubt I'm the only one ever who has been in a funk for no reason. Sometimes there is no reason for things. They just happen.) But then there are moments of anxiety where you - or in this "I" - just frak myself over in the head and can't get anything done.
I write selfishly. I write things that I create, that come to my mind in waves of inspiration. I flesh them out on paper on the computer and eventually... they make a story. The only times I have ever written for an audience are the times I've written stories specifically for friends as presents or pick-me-ups (like "The Morning After" was for Jillian S. and "The Road Not Taken" was for Alithea S. and the series "The Strange Adventures of Princess Blue" was originally a little random story off the top of my head to cheer up Kathy W.) But essentially the audience I always write for is morbid and twisty little ol' me.
I just wish I could write smoother and not second guess myself so much. Writing my ideas out is one thing, but then there are times where I've written reviews and such for other people, and I get all weird about it.
What if it's not good enough?
It can be better.
They're going to hate it.
Why am I doing this?
You know... shit like that.
I suppose I need more confidence in my writing. That would be a plus. Over the years I've slowly learned how to take criticism, but I find I can only take criticism if it's given without anger, hypocrisy, egotism, insult or mockery. I've had people do that before, offer up suggestions, etc, for my work but they're doling out suggestions based off what has worked for them or what they do which is fine in some regards but not all writers are the same and for those people that are oblivious to acknowledge that and think their way is the only way? - I can't talk to those people much less take their criticism or assistance. And the ones that make fun and have no idea what the frak you're doing? Their words hurt, but they also anger, and neither of those are helpful.
Wow. I kind of got off track.
I think I'm going to sign off on this post and try and actually write before the will and energy are gone. Sleep lately has been a rare commodity as of late. Finally falling from pure exhaustion and the body's lack of will to do anything, my sleep is restless due to my cat wanting to be petted or licking me when I'm just about to fall into the black... or my landlady's dogs begin to scamper and bark while she and her husband yell at them to be quiet... or the older housemate who walks around as if he has cement shoes on the size of elephant's feet. Usually I'm so tired none of that matters, but stress and other things I suppose are wearing on my nerves to the point where any little thing now wakes me up making 5-6 hours in reality 30min to hour spurts with difficulties in trying to find the black again.
Again, I got off track. Sorry.
Later my lovelies.