Cold Eggs on the floor
Some people write to make it a career. Some people write just to write. And some people write to make their stories, opinions and ideas known. I guess all of those are valid reasons. But for me half the time I write because I have to write. I have millions of little stories and poems floating around so many places that most will probably be lost forever. Or maybe 100 years after I’m dead somebody will find them and give me the right credit. Who knows about that as I’ll be long gone and the way things are going it doesn’t look like I’ll be having any next of kin that’s for sure. Maybe my nephews and their children and my cousin’s cousin’s kids will lay claim. Who knows and who really cares at that point.
The madness behind all of this is that many times I have no other choice. If it’s 3am and something pops into my head I have to get up and write it or at least take notes about it. My mind isn’t as crazy as it once was I think, but who knows about that theory. People would tell you back in high school that I would look like a man possessed when I started writing. I’d write 50 pages in such a short time and after all was said and done I’d have no clue how the hell all that was written. There are many stories I’ve read years later and thought there was no way I wrote that, good and bad. My problem was always never having faith in my abilities. And then other times I’d refuse to write. Writing takes a lot out of me. It drains me.
It drains me because it’s not just that I’m writing but I’m living and breathing my stories. If a character is going insane, I’m right there with them. If a story is about evil or good or whatever I’m in that story. Which brings me to a new story I’ve been working on for months now. Yeah it revolves around the divorce but it’s so much more than that it’s not funny. For the longest time I had no clue where to go with the story. I had ideas but none of them were anything special. They were just thoughts. And then one day something happened and suddenly I started recreating this story and a week later I have 100 pages written. It’s a long process to go and finish, re-edit, rearrange, and make it special, but I think I needed something good to happen at some point. I’m not so sure it was a good moment anymore, but at that time I felt it was good enough. Call it a good date with a cool person that spawned the creative juices. Who knows why things happen the way they do but they do.
The story isn’t really about me per say but it sure has a ton of realistic situations so far that either happened or were so close to what happened that it’s hard not to go through the same emotions again. Which means not only am I draining myself because I’m writing but I’m also draining myself because I’m going through all those emotions once again. And I’m not even at some of the hardest moments. That will come soon enough. But I do know after all the drainage and pain and suffering and lack of sleep I will be happy after all is said and done. Everything I write comes from my heart. Everything I do basically revolves around me being honest with myself. All the good, bad, and ugly that I might have gone through. I’m not going to sugar coat it or create some fake persona like soo many I’ve met seem to do. They don’t want people knowing their vulnerabilities. They don’t want people knowing the truth. You know what the truth is, we’re all human and most of us mess up. We get back up and fight another day. Seems everybody just wants everybody else to believe they are better than them and it’s all peaches and cream. What a silly concept really.