Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Thoughts Exploding out of my Fingers

Mood: Velocoraper – like. Seriously. Duck and cover.
Listening to: Civil War – Guns N Roses

For reasons that I’ll explain later in this blog, I needed to write today. Unfortunately, today is not great personally for me so I’m really afraid this blog entry will come out sounding bitter, angry, and not just a little bit whiney. My apologies if this happens. Feel free to skip today and move on to something with a little more unicorns, rainbows, and general sunshine shooting out people’s butts if you’re so inclined.

Since my departure for a new life half way around the world, my communication with people who are not technically required to communicate with me (read: not family) has been a little spotty. My oh so mediocre history of communication does not put me in a favorable light when it comes to getting in contact with people.  I am not a social butterfly that makes friends everywhere and the minute she lands. It takes me a LONG time to settle into a place and get to know people. Then slowly slide into friendship. We were blessed to be able to stay in New York for almost 7 years (unheard of if you know my husband and I at all, we bounce around a lot!) and had a beautiful group of friends that we were dearly attached to.  One of the most challenging things about  taking a step off the cliff and plunging into a new situation, either 1 state away or half a world, is overcoming the people barrier. It’s not a language thing, it’s not a fear thing, it’s just taking the time to get to know people and slowly become friends.

This being said, I don’t talk a lot in real life. Unless you are my mother, then I talk your ear off every time I call you, but I digress. I’m not really unhappy with this either. I’m just not the chatty type. Unless I’ve been into the merlot, but that’s a whole other blog post. I have two small children who require almost ceaseless, mindless chatter. They are home on summer vacation right now. After I’ve spent the day talking with them, I find myself craving a small hidey-hole to go sit in. What I do however have is an excess of thoughts floating around in my brain fighting to get out. All these thoughts coupled with a general lack of people to have intelligent conversations with (i.e. nothing in reference to Sponge bob, Popeye, or Oggie and the cockroaches) makes writing indispensible to me. It really is the only way to get stuff out of my head.

As the years have gone by, I’ve become more and more attached to having all of my thoughts written down and organized. Writing has become a joy for me that I crave.

Unfortunately, writing takes some semblance of concentration for me and a certain mindset. If I’m feeling frustrated, overwhelmed, or just plain angry, I can’t write. Well, I can, but then I can’t stand the tone my writing takes. That bitter, sarcastic mopey tone that I can’t stand. I hate listening to myself be like this even more than listening to other people carry on like this.

Sometimes it isn’t an attitude problem, it’s the sheer current of life that pulls me along without a chance to sit and write. I have a family to take care of, a job, and interests outside of writing. This is most frustrating when words are literally exploding out of my fingertips, yet I just can’t find the time to get them down. As you have probably noticed as of late, I have started writing longer blog posts, which in turn need longer time to be written and edited.

The third thing that keeps me from writing when I have the time is plain old vanilla procrastination. I like to play Spider while I formulate ideas in my head, pausing to note down ideas/sentences that invade my head. The only problem with this is that Spider is addictive. What could have been a 20 minute brainstorm can quickly turn into an hour and a half time suck. I know it’s ridiculous, but sometimes that’s the way I roll.
My blogs have always been the way that I cater to the need to write. I do occasionally write fiction geared towards a strictly adult audience, but I feel blogging is more up my alley. I don’t write for anyone else. No one pays me. I do it for the sheer love of the art of taking letters, syllables, words, and sentences and weaving them together to create something.

So there it is, all out on the table. I will most likely be writing for the rest of my life. I love it, I need it, and I will do it. Hopefully on a regular basis.


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