1.164 – Saying A Whole Lot of Nothing

Not even sure how to start this post. Not feeling very inspired at the moment. Pretty fed up with the human species as a whole. I have no inclination to deal with sarcasm or poorly aimed wit, stupid people or fair weather individuals.

Not much seems to be going my way, as of late. As of the past eight years. Maybe the past twenty-eight. Who the hell knows. Just another emo moment in the emo life of yours truly.

I’m hoping better things will come in June. All I know is I have to get my ass in gear and make things happen, in all aspects of my life. I’m running out of fuel and the journey hasn’t even started yet. It’s only going to get a million times worse.

I’m just hoping there is a light at the end of this dark, dank tunnel.

1.161 – Here We Go Again

Seems like it’s that time again. No, it’s not November and yet I’m prepping for another go at NaNoWriMo. Apparently, the summer time has become another opportunity for writers to get their work on the page via CampNaNoWriMo.

I participated in the November 2011 challenge and finished the month with a little over 56K. I’ve considered editing the piece I worked on, Dream Catcher, in the months that followed…to no avail. I thought I would do a rewrite but that idea went out the window as well.

Nonetheless, I’m sitting here with my notebook, scribbling down ideas. Funny thing is, the idea I feel strongest about is the one that focuses on religion. Yep, I said it. Religion. I think it’s an interesting concept and one I’ve personally never seen done before though I’m sure someone has covered it in some book I’ve never read. It’s coming from my perspective so…yeah.

June 1st is the start date, although there is a second round of participation starting August 1 – think I can write two books this summer? We shall see.

Either way, I’m excited. I feel like I got a lot done in the month of November and felt most proud as a writer…even though no one has read Dream Catcher and I’m hating it to the point of not ever wanting to edit it and thrusting it in the trash. BUT just getting my work on the page is a huge breakthrough for me. So I’m willing to have a go at it again.

No expectations. Just words. May The Muse remain close.

1.129 – A Million Petals

“Someone gave you flowers”

When I was in middle school, I had a really grouchy music teacher named Ms. Diaz. This woman scared the ever living piss out of me and everyone else I knew. But she loved what she did. And that was making us sing and dance like friggen smiley puppets. For our first performance, we had to sing some god awful song that I can’t even remember. But that’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that my parents didn’t show up. Yeah, that sucked.

The second performance of the year was the holiday set, which I was unbelievably excited for. My father was a self-proclaimed JewBan (Jewish and Cuban) and I was thrilled to have learned “This is Hanukkah.” The curtain went up and I was ready. We sang several holiday songs and I could see my mother and my father sitting toward the back. We’d just finished a set and the Hanukkah song was next. And that’s when my mother stood up, whacked my father on the shoulder and made her way out of the auditorium. Trying not to cry, I watched my father follow my mother out of the crowded venue. “It’s not really my thing,” she’d explained later. My father apologized when she was out of earshot. Yeah, that sucked too.

My mother and I fought the morning of my senior graduation. She’d called my father some awful names and I came to his defense. She slipped into the typical martyr act and hooped and hollered about how I showed her no love or respect…how I only regarded my father as if he were a saint. We went to my graduation and I left my parents in the car. The music played and I made my way to my seat. I got in line to receive my diploma and noticed that my father sat alone. My mothers seat was empty. When I got onstage, I looked around the gymnasium…only to notice my mother standing by the back entrance for a second. And then she walked away. Right before my name was called. Yeah, that sucked.

When I was in college, I was elated to get the role of Amanda Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie. I invited my mother. Why, I still don’t know. She called with 20 minutes to showtime saying she couldn’t make it because she was in the hospital after suffering a stroke. “Well, you sound fine,” I’d said. “Well, I don’t feel fine.” The show must go on. And it did. After the show, I called my mothers friend…to check in on her progress. “What do you mean hospital? I just got off the phone with her…um…she’s been at her boyfriends.” By the way, opening night was my birthday. Yeah, that blowed.

What the hell does any of this have to do with flowers?

Nothing.

And everything.

Before he passed away, my best friend used to listen to me talk…allowed me the chance to vent and babble on about these types of moments in my life. He listened until there was nothing left to say. And then, he’d say the same thing: “Here’s a flower.” It was an imaginary flower…a figurative flower.

The first time, I asked what the hell was I supposed to do with a pretend flower and I am trying to tell you why I am upset and you are not being a very good friend right now you butthead.

I’m giving you a flower, he said, because you cannot see the beauty in the world. You are too fixated on picking apart everything until all you see if something of uselessness…of ugliness. Even in the bad, there is good. I’m giving you this flower so you can pick at it to your hearts content…and then you can let it go.

He gave me a field of flowers.

But he was right. In every performance, I got to perform…despite seats being empty. In graduating, I reached a goal so many in my family did not. In theater, I got to play a part I respected and worked hard to get. I did not see the beauty and wonder of each moment because I allowed myself to tear it apart and fixate solely on the negative of it all.

Very shortly before he died, my BFF said something that sticks with me even now. “I hope there comes a time when I never have to give you a flower again. Not because I don’t want to but because you will have no reason to pick any petals away.”

A time when I can just admire the beauty and find no reason to dwell on the bad. Sadly, I think I live in that field…continuously dwelling, worrying that something terrible is just around the corner. Because things don’t go well…can’t go well for people like me.

Despite a lifetime of being a Nervous Nelly…I hope there comes a day when I can walk in my field of flowers…and just enjoy the view.

Prompt taken from A Creative Writers Kit by Judy Reeves

1.48 – NaNoWriMo Coming To An End

Today, someone asked me if I would be willing to write a script for a chance to win 1K.

My immediate response was “I don’t know if I’d consider myself good enough to win 1K.”

Yep, self doubt is my writers block.

I’m kind of kicking my own ass over this whole NaNoWriMo thing. I’ve worked every day, ranging from 50 words on the page to 5k and yet, I’m suddenly getting the self-doubt syndrome. I feel stupid that I talked so much about it because now that means people will want to see it when it’s done. Hell, I’m petrified to share even a portion here and this is my blog.

I don’t think I’m concerned with the critiques. Things that worked and things that didn’t. I’m scared to get those smiles and the “that was nice,” comments. Because that means “it sucked” and “I pity your ass because you really think writing is your calling.”

I’m so close to completing this thing and now I’m getting scared of it. People say nice things, to be supportive, to not come off as jerks. One girl asked me what the story was about and I gave her the most ass backwards description of it and she did the “oh wow, that sounds exciting, I’d read it,” response. But would you really? You might think I’m cool or a nice person, a good mom or a hard worker…but will you really think I’m a good writer?

I guess I’ll soon find out.

1.29 – Dear Dream Catcher

I am writing this letter to you for a few reasons. I know you’ve just been an idea in my head and in just a few hours, I’m going to start the excelled journey of NaNoWriMo, in hopes that I can get you down on paper.

You scare me. If I can’t get you out…can I get anything out?

You excite me. For the potential you represent.

You confuse me. I honestly don’t know where you came from.

I don’t want to let you down and not do enough justice to a concept I’m really excited about. I don’t want to prove to myself that I wasn’t ever really meant to be a writer. If I fail at this challenge…what does that say about my capability? Can I finish anything? Will I? Will it be worth it?

I’m probably going to break up with you at least twice…in the first week. I’m probably going to call you a bunch of very bad names and potentially threaten to burn you. I may even call you the worst idea known to man. I want you to know that I don’t mean it.

I’ll probably ignore you for a day or two and then be angry that you aren’t turning out the way I want you to. You’ll be my worst writing yet and I’ll probably feel ashamed for that. You’re going to make me have a melt down and I dislike you already…

And yet, you are my hope. May the muse be with us.

Sincerely yours, Skylah.