Nocturnal Ramblings

I haven't written in a very long time, and I'm tired of staring at that same old post. So I'm going to do something about it! I suppose sleepy rambling is better than old news, right? I'll feel better about it, anyway.

So my life's been interesting lately. All sorts of things have been happening that I don't feel at liberty to post about just yet. I know, the mystery is killing you, right? :) All I'm saying is, I think God's doing some stuff. And if it's not God, man, am I gonna be in trouble!! But that's faith for you. Wow...

I just finished watching one of my favorite movies, Stranger Than Fiction, and I was reminded of how much I love writing. Everything from the act of writing, to the editing process, to reading what others have written (unless it's written poorly); I just love it! What exactly does that mean, though? Why am I not writing a novel by now? Am I just lazy, or am I supposed to trust my senses right now, when they tell me to hold off for a little while longer?

Who knows?

But I can't escape it. Writing is in me. There's nothing I can do. Like right now... I should either be cleaning up for the friend that's coming over to watch a movie tomorrow, or I should be going to bed, because I'm very, very tired. But neither of those things are happening, because the thought of a blank page came to me and I had a need to fill it up. Hopefully with quality literature, in good time, but for now it's just my general thoughts before I give up trying to motivate myself to clean up, and go ahead and fall asleep. Was that a run-on sentence? I'm pretty sure that was a run-on sentence.

Probably tomorrow, when I read this, I will be disappointed in my lack of creativity and meaningful words. Right now it feels cathartic, and possibly even brilliant. Why is it the next day always reveals your words to be less than inspired? It amazes me.

Here's hoping tomorrow reveals brilliance! :)

This New Day

This is my favorite place in the world so far... I guess it's not really a "place," more like an occurrence. But I love it when I have some free time, a cup of coffee nearby, and a computer in front of me, waiting for me to write. Sometimes the computer is replaced by the old-fashioned journal-and-pen, but you get the gist. :)

Life got a little nuts for me this month, but I think I'm starting to get my thoughts in order again, and that's a very good thing. Today I'm happy to be alive... not just okay with it, but happy. Previously I was only okay with it, so this is definitely an improvement. I think I started forgetting about the really important things and it was really getting me down...

So I'm working on coming back to life, and in time, healing my motivation. I used to be an artist, and volunteer regularly, and I used to go walking just for fun, and I used to read a lot, and plan fun events where people could get together, and write little notes for people, and all sorts of things I never do anymore. I don't know why I never do them anymore, but I want to change it all immediately. Is it weird to miss yourself? Because I think I miss myself a little bit.

Somewhere along the way I got caught up in an aspect of life I never intended to be caught up in, and it's a very dark place. Somehow I started coping with life instead of living it, and managing relationships instead of enjoying them. I started trying to figure everything and everyone out instead of appreciating them for who they are. I started trying to save people instead of simply loving them, and letting Christ do what he does best...

Basically, I've been trying to do life on my own, to make my life stable on my own, to fit all the pieces together, and write my own story, and fashion my own happy ending... make my dreams come to life somehow. And I've been miserable, because that's not possible. I don't really know what I was thinking. But the important thing is, I know better now, and I can see a little more clearly, and I can be working on changing things instead of giving up and accepting them.

I can't change the past, but I can try to do today a little better, and tomorrow even better than that. I don't really know where to start, but maybe things will become even more clear as I move in the direction I know I'm supposed to be moving in.

At least I can start the day off with hope. That seems to be such a rare thing in this world. But hope moves people when it is allowed to bloom. You can't ignore it when it has come alive in someone... and that's what I want most of all right now. To let hope live in me in such a way that it becomes contagious to the people around me... What a beautiful thing that would be!

I can't say I don't regret where I've been walking lately, but this is a new day, and all the old days have passed away and won't be coming back. There is consolation in that, if nothing else. And this day, this brand new day, is saturated with possibility...

A Bit of Writer's Block and Holiday Blues

I've attempted writing several times over the last few weeks, and I just couldn't make it work out. There's way too much going on in my head right now to make a lot of sense on paper. In fact, I've stopped writing - even journaling - for the most part, which is always an indicator that something's not right. So what's going on with me? I'm still trying to figure it out.

I feel like I'm losing myself again in the midst of life. I have a lot of church friends who are awesome, and then there's friends from new work and old work, and then there's friends from school. And... sometimes I feel like I have to be a different person to all of them. Like, there are people you can curse around and people you can't. There are people who know I have a drink every now and again, and people who find it offensive that alcohol exists. There are people you can answer honestly when they ask you what's going on in your life, and there are people you just have to say: "Oh I'm fine" to, and move on. And I have a really hard time with that. It's hard for me to not be real with everyone. But then that gets me into trouble.

Is it wise to be totally real with everyone? I'm finding that it may not be. But that makes me sad. And then... is it bad that I find it easier to be real with non-Christian friends? Because that's what's been happening lately.

And then I find I'm a bit confused about God. Does he accept me the way I am or not? Is he holding out on me? Could I have more if I weren't dedicated to following him? Would I be living my dreams right now if God wasn't a factor? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious. I really want to live life to the fullest, and honestly, I'm finding I don't have a whole lot in common with the people I'd think I have the most in common with. And the people I always thought would be a bad influence on me are the ones encouraging me and allowing me to be myself and just have fun. It's strange. And I'm just confused about it all.

On top of all of that, there's the family mess. It's worse this Christmas than just the usual drama. I may not even be able to be with everyone for Christmas, and as stressful as the situation can be sometimes, I find myself pretty heartbroken over the thought of not being with them. It'd be one thing if I had some amazing guy to spend Christmas with, and I was starting my own family traditions. But it won't be like that. And I'm pretty angry about it all, if I'm being real with myself.

I guess it's just been a stressful month. And I feel alone in it all, because I don't know who to talk to. Everyone's busy. Everyone's got their own problems. And I guess I just really want a companion in the midst of my turmoil. Its a universal desire, I know. I just happen to be feeling it more than usual lately.

'Tis the season.

In Search of a Story

Hello, friends.

I'm a little lonely tonight, with a lot on my mind.

I've spent the past couple of hours (oh, who am I kidding? More like 3 or 4!) looking for jobs in Chatty, reading random blog postings, watching J.K. Rowling interviews on YouTube... who could ask for more on a Saturday night?

I can't help but wish inspiration would hit me. Books used to come so easily when I was a child. And even a teenager. In fact, I think I could write well until I went to college and learned the format of an essay. It was all downhill from there. I try to give my writing structure, and it all falls apart. For some reason, my creativity got squashed in college and has not yet made a full recovery. I'm still seeking answers as to why.

Still, my best work is definitely my journal. Not this one, but my personal journal, hand-written, which I've been keeping since I was like 11 or something. There I have been so brutally honest. Here, I have to watch what I say... so it doesn't offend anyone, or get to the wrong ears, or encourage some internet scumbag to continue his stalking habits. Here, everything is fairly well edited, and though I don't have a true "structure" I feel like I lose a lot in the quest to be acceptable to all audiences. Although I still want to be a writer, more than anything, I wonder sometimes how published writers do it. Perhaps I am not yet mature enough to have learned the balance of diplomacy and honest commentary on universal issues.

If only I could write both honestly and for the public. Supposedly I can... you know, Freedom of Speech and all, but I am not yet prepared to live with the consequences of writing fearlessly. I have let a select few people read some of my personal journal entries and it was one of the scariest things I have ever done. Those who have read what I write when I am writing straight from the heart have saturated me with praise. I don't know what to do with this. I have been told I am a born writer. All I know is, it is the one thing I cannot live without. To me, it is like oxygen... or dark chocolate.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am searching for my story. All my life I have been seeking it, and I had hoped it would come by now. J.K. Rowling was 25 when Harry Potter appeared to her on the train. I can only hope and pray that my story finds me soon.

I am thirsty for the writing life, though I know it will be a hard road. One of my dearest friends told me this week that I need to start at least writing articles, sending them out to magazines, and begin my collection of rejection letters. I know she is right, I just don't know what to write about yet. But I think I'm supposed to be a writer, if there is such a thing as "supposed to be," because none of these other jobs sound even close to what I really want.

Do you think God has a plan for my life and if I'm living it right I'll find my way into the writing life? Or did He give me the gift of writing and leave me here to figure it all out on my own? Am I missing something here? Is it just not time yet, or is there something wrong with me that blocks my motivation to write for publication right now?

Then again, though I may not feel it these days, I am pretty young. Most writers don't get published until they're in their 40's, and still more aren't published until after their death. That's a comforting thought. That means I'll have to have some lousy career for the rest of my life, and keep writing without knowing whether it will ever have meaning for anyone.

But I will keep writing. I know that much. I don't really care if I never get any recognition for it. I know in my heart that I'm supposed to write, that I love to write, and that I cannot not write. Maybe a publisher will choose to see that in my lifetime and maybe not, but it won't really matter either way.

I will be a writer either way. ever in search of my great story...