Ah, it's a happy Wednesday in good old Los Angeles. The sky is party overcast, last night my neighbors threw a huge "Back to School" party, keeping their children up well past 11p (Because what's better for the second day of school then dropping off your crabby, sleepy kids? Yes. My neighbors are a breed of their own.)
But alas, that is not what brings me here this lovely day. Today, I am here to discuss the happenings in my life. Yes, that means I'm once again neglecting my other blog--but I'm liking it here. It's like discovering an old room in your house. One you used to spend all of your time in, and then for some stupid reason, decided to board it up.
With a lot of nails.
Because when I go for it, I don't like messing around.
I'm my own personal sadist. Why have others f with you, when you can just f yourself till next Thursday and back?
Life is...well, I was going to write "confusing" but it's not really confusing. Not if I put my big girl pants on and take it for what it is. Realistically it's just frustrating. Some days I feel like I'm slapping myself in the head with a cricket bat*, and can't figure out why I have a headache. [*they are flatter and more efficient than a Louisville slugger. This way I get more of the side of my face and not just the temple.]
Duh! It's because of Communism, or Nazis, or soccer moms--which fits in that same category as the other two.
What all this means is I have to make some changes, like trying to figure out how to deal with my back to school, anti-social anxiety disorder. (said disorder may not be on the books, but it's real in my life.) Or, how to get someone to read my damn manuscripts that isn't a like long friend, blood relative, or the guy I'm sleeping with.
Turns out when you share a vagina with someone (or a penis), they'll read your writing easy-peasy. And some people think marriage is a dead sacrament...obviously they're not "aspiring" authors. (this theory applies to me in my husband's writing life as well)
Or maybe I'm not officially "aspiring" any longer since I posted on Wattpad?
Or maybe writing on here makes me, like, the super duper special writer Queen woman?
Or maybe I should drink less coffee before I blog.
Jesus, I regretted typing that before I even finished knocking out the sentence.
Coffee is my only vice these days. (In the category of foodstuff, I'm sure I have other vices--but am not up to discussing them just yet. And now I want more coffee.)
The hardest part about waiting is feeling like you may explode at any minute. I have a million stories to tell, choosing which one to lean on is hard enough, and then I have these vivid dreams at night that only give me new ideas, on top of old half written stories sitting around for me to get back to them, on top of other pieces I promised to write for other people. ARGH!
I read a lot and sometimes the voice in my head screams, "Your stuff is just as good as this!! What's the hold up?? What is wrong with you?" (probably my massive use of over punctuation.)
I am my own worse enemy.
I know this.
I freak myself out and then I give up.
I over think EVERYTHING!
Because it's easier to be alone in my bedroom with a laptop not finishing things, than reading multiple form rejection letters from no-faced agents.
See! I can figure out the root of my own problems! Kinda.
So, like I said--this post is about changes. The ones I need to make so I'm not sitting here in ten years writing this same damn blog post, but even more discontent and caffeine free. (Which will be due to doctors orders--obviously.)
How does one do that?
I guess it's back to the big girl pants. How can I sit here and say 'what if,' when I very well know I have a better chance at succeeding if I put myself out there for general ridicule.
Shit balls I hate ridicule. I pretend I'm okay with it and then I'm on the sofa at 3am crying into a dish towel. (because my face is a platter from all the cricket bat hitting)
Not sure how I got to this portion of the blog--I veered off somewhere and tripped down the embankment, and now I'm hungry, craving coffee, and a bit excited to get back to writing.
I guess that means it worked?? (insert appropriate emoji here)
I know it hasn't been that long, this writing life of mine, but on days it feels like an eternity... I guess that's the lesson here. All that, if first you don't succeed, stuff, and getting out of my own head. Because, let me tell you, it's a regular Freddy Krueger self-esteem, emotionally depleting massacre in there. I'd invite you in, but that's just cruel.
All righty... Putting on my happy face. Getting the heck off the internet. Writing and editing here I come!
After more coffee.