I have had a whirlwind emotional day which means that something is out of alignment in my world. One would say this is like being in a room with spirits you can feel and smell but they do not appear before your eyes.
Does one believe in ghosts? I guess that it would appear so but actually I prefer to think of them as residual dust that still lingers as if the soft wind that brings it through has lost the luster to continue along its way. I love ghost stories, I like scary ghost stories, romantic ghost stories, funny ghost stories and really anything that involves a ghost.
You know a person with an overactive imagination can not help but turn every moment of life into a story. I have this strange thing of taking a license plate on other cars and trying to turn them into words as well as when in public picking out someone and telling their story. I am visually encouraged to write but I am afraid that what is in my mind rarely sees itself in black and white and that I plan to change. I write my best when I write frequently and when I write with a mind to the picture the words should create. There must be flow for you must be drawn into the picture, there must be colorful prose that brushes the emotions just at the tip of the nerves, there must be texture that makes you create the image as if unaware you are doing so and there must be the anxiety as to where the road shall take you.
I rewrite. If the story falls down the worm hole, I take a step back and wonder where it took the wrong turn. If my rope is not long enough to pull the story back up, I name it and file it away for maybe another day or maybe never. Sometimes I think I do this too often but unless I am fully satisfied, I second doubt myself. I am in the 3rd go round with the new story but with each it is crisper, it flows well and yet just the process makes it hard to evaluate properly. I guess this is why people hire editors but you really need a different editor for each edit. Wait, that won't do because it is like whittling where you keep working on it until you are holding a toothpick. I love/hate editing because it is the most self imposed pressure you ever put on yourself. I can write a good book but I have yet to convince myself to let it go...just release the Kraken and let it go.
Patience...I have a lot and I have none. Such is my world I suppose. For everything that I have there is also none that I have. Some days are up and the words flow and some days are less welcoming and just being in my own company is necessary. I never regret my decisions for I have learned that good, bad or indifferent I sometimes need all of them but I don't have a fondness for indifference even though it is a good defense mechanism if you can carry it off. I have to practice the blank look when faced with someone that makes me want to turn and leave. It works but you literally have to pull that plug and let the emotions settle in your toes because your toes only give a rat's ass if you run into the leg of the table again.
So today was filled with emotions because I didn't get out of bed and turn on the protective shields against the residual stragglers. I think I'll go back to editing because it will not do itself and I can't afford an editor but first I think maybe coffee ice cream to sooth my nerves.
barb...still hitting the keys.
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