Writing my bones

I’ve been reading Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones.  It goes well with NaNoWriMo imo, getting all inspired and shyte.  I’ve also been going through an existential writing crisis.  Can you even be an author if you don’t go through them periodically?

Tonight, though, is not about the crisis or where or how it might get resolved.

Tonight is writing about one of my bones.  I have at least 206.  And in my soul?  How many does it have?

~~~

I miss cable.  I miss losing myself.  I miss running far and wide away from any dreams I may have.

I miss living life as a dream.

Waking up is not easy.  Bah!  That is the language of fear.  Waking up is brutal, hard, painful, agonizing, exhausting and did I mention hard?

I want my cable.  I want my Big Bang Theory and my—gods, a second show doesn’t even immediately come to mind.  They do now, though, they want to flood my consciousness.  They want to sink back deep into me, my bloody sirens of the modern age, luring me to my psychic death on their shores.

Damn them.  Survivor, I remember you.  And new shows, with witches and fairytales.  Shouldn’t I be watching the fairytale one?  Almost like research.  But who’s fairytale do I really want to live in.  Mine or theirs?  I think theirs is better told.  But then, I have no faith in my writing in this here and this now.

I’m too caught up in the words, in the movement of my fingers on the keyboard and the truth becomes lost to me.

The t.v. mutters in the background.  One movie from my collection plucked out to put its story on the screen.  Not my story, just a story.  Love, death, hate.  All the big ones.  You make me miss cable less.  But you, I must choose you, make the effort, not just have it all served up to me with just a flick of my finger on a button to change channels at the appropriate moment.

It’s gone.  That free for all smorgasbord of programming.  Gone.  The land of endless distraction is closed to me.  And by my own choice.

What was I thinking?

That this would make me free?  Open my mind?  Give me time to seek out more of what I “want”?

Do I even know what I want?  My heart says no.  But wait, a whisper, deep inside, it says that we do know, just need to listen a little harder, a little deeper.  Deep, deep, deep, when do I get to be the light sparkling on the surface of the stream?  I want to be a glittering shimmer of light, effervescent and fluid.

I want
(to be a)
glimmering shimmer of light,
effervescent and
fluid

~Samantha, a Skeleton Woman

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