Life: Chapter 463

Tomorrow, I move! I am thrilled. In a calm way…

This is a goodbye I can hardly wait to say. The new place is in Jamaica Plain. It will be a much quieter apartment and neighborhood. Much more conducive to productive writing time! Of course, I can’t place all the blame on my living situation for the amount of time I don’t spend writing, but I think it definitely plays a part.

I just need something to inspire me. I don’t mean that I need ideas. I’ve got plenty of those. I know, art is its own reward, right? That’s what they say. But sometimes it really isn’t enough. I need something to make me feel like it’s worth it. Writing is a lot of work, and takes a lot of time, and so far it hasn’t gotten me very far in life to put in that writing effort. For example, I spent weeks, if not longer, revising my Mythology project, which you can probably read about in some previous post or other, only to have misplaced the flash drive which, apparently, is the only place the revised versions were saved. There is still a chance it will turn up. There’s always a chance. But, the point is, how is this situation supposed to inspire me to write.

 

Maybe I should read over Gregory Maguire’s comments on the project again. That might make me feel better.

I often dwell on the unfortunate. I should just think about how wonderful my new apartment could be. And then do some creative work. Because there is one undeniable truth: I will never get published if I don’t actually do the writing.

Another Life #13

Come with me. I don’t care where we go. Some place I have never been before. Somewhere that feels familiar even though it’s new. Anywhere, it really doesn’t matter. Just away from here, where the air is choked with cigarette smoke and awful music. How does this stuff get recorded in the first place? Worse than screeching banshees, sometimes. Yes, let’s go to where the banshees come out and croon their screams…

Come away with me, and we’ll dance our way across the ocean. We’ll count stars through the cloth ceiling of a borrowed tent, and climb into the low-hanging branches of thick-trunked trees. I’ll say how it reminds me of Ireland. You’ll reach around to steady me, unnecessarily. I’ll smile.

Yes, let’s go.