Again, getting ready to write and I start here. I woke up in the 4 o'clock hour (finally) and got up to face my day and thoughts that were eating at me. One of which was dealing with the woes of my little nonprofit company and it's lack of funds and energy -- my energy specifically. So, I sent out a group email regarding my concerns and now I feel better. I basically sent the problem off to the board members and for now I can relax.
Then I read of deadlines coming for contests that I MUST enter. Pressure. I am not done. Still not done. The deadline is October 15th!
But what happens as I try to get myself to open the file? This weird desire comes over me to be in some alternate state and again, the only way I can describe it is that I want to feel in love. I turn on Radiohead's House of Cards and the sound helps me go to an emotional state of being that feels close, or at the least reminiscent of the excitement of love. Are male writers like this? Shoot -- are other female writers like this, or am I just weird?
Ahh... Karma Police is playing. Yes.
See, I think I feel this "desire" to write to old friends that are not my friends at all, but rather old flames left lingering in my heart. Coals and embers of what should have burned away by now. And when I am within my screenplay writing zone I begin to feel this same sort of satisfaction -- as though I am communicating within some spiritual lovely space that sends me from my little spot of darkness.
Years and years ago, when I was in my final year as a teen, I had been "kicked" out of my parent's home and went to live with my aunt. I recall standing in the yard of her home in Michigan, in the dark, and talking for hours to the moon. I confessed to the moon (God, really) and told him everything. I was not drunk, stoned or at all altered, but I recall that feeling of expectancy and magic. Among other things, I was in love with a boy a state over and he did not love me. I tried. I wrote poetry. I wrote letters. I begged. I moved to the state two months after being allowed to live with my aunt. I chased down my dream of love and I lost. But painful as it all was, it felt meaningful. I must say -- it lead me to other places. Michigan sucked.
These days, my question should be WHY do I want to be in that space again? Did any of those desires and dreams come to be, or was it the dream state alone that I craved and was satisfied with?
I ask my former self, why not try actually creating the reality of the dream rather than just dwelling in a dream?
Now No Surprises plays...
Okay. Got it. Finishing this post and opening up the file...
