It Got To Me.

I’ve got a blog scheduled for tomorrow (first time I’ve scheduled one!) that goes into detail about what I will speak on tonight. Tonight I am blogging as a mental purge. As usual, you can ignore it, or you can read it for what it is-me stumbling around, searching for answers.┬áToday, though, I’m going to try something a little different. I present to you:

A Seed

I passed by the garden of the no longer living, their flowers an ashen pillared stone. I hear their whispers call to me, the wind bringing the weepings of those passed on. Regret thickens the air around me, my breath turning to crystals in my chest. A hand reaches out for me, the keeper of the gate claims I have no right to pass through. “Please,” I whisper, “I have already died while I lived. The feelings claimed me, the bondage of my emotions pulled me through the depths and I ceased to be years ago.” He eyed me wearily and nodded, his expression relaxing.

“It is so for many.” He sighed, the sweet tobacco smoke caressing my cheek. My path opened and I could see a single plot of earth undisturbed. My feet glided, the pain in my heart weighing down my steps, until I could barely move them. I reached my reservation, the tension in my body forcing my gaze skyward. I lifted my hands higher, the heavens leaning into my touch. I felt the sorrows of the years form rivulets on my cheeks, washing away the body I had outgrown so many years ago.

“Why?” My heart roared. “Why was I alone for so long? Lost in the ocean, I perished amongst the apathetic and the unconcerned. My blood was spilled for far too long, the agony never being relieved.” The sky above my split, lifting my chin as high as it would go.

“You had to enter oblivion to be made new.”The rumblings of sadness reached my ears just before the cleansing rain. With the last of my awareness, I watched the scars on my wrist become barky ridges. I closed my eyes at last, the sweet peace overcoming me as I’d begged it to for years.

What I had hoped for in death was given to me in life. The world which sought to bury me alive didn’t know that it was that very thing required to bring about the greatest transformation.

tree woman.jpg

(Image Credit: Willow, at Wallpaper Up)

The story came before I found the photo.

I Just Can’t Even

The thing about life is that it throws you curve balls and you think you have a handle on everything and then there’s another curve in the road and your car topples over, down a cliff and you think “Oh crap! This is it!” And then you wake up and realize it’s not it and you have to keep living each day, even if it’s hard, because you’re still alive and that’s all there is.

I have always been honest about the fact that I am opinionated. But what happens to opinionated people is that they take a stand, and occasionally because of that, they take a fall. I live in the state of Ohio, as I have all my life. And it’s like living in the middle of a political hungry, hungry hippo game, and the people are the balls. Seriously, if there isn’t one thing in the news, it’s another. For example, I go to The Ohio State University (yes, the “The” is capitalized). In this semester alone, we’ve had a bomb threat, a suicide and an accidental death, which resulted in the end of a tradition. Now, that isn’t to say that I do not feel safe, because I went to classes on the day of the bomb threat and came out just fine. However, it seriously has been the worst semester as far as bizarrely awful things. And I mean, with this being a hot spot for political rallies, our campus has been a zoo on the worst days, and little better on the best days. We’re a bunch of kids and early adults, and as developmentally immature future generations, I would like to speak up and say “What the hell?!”

I didn’t come here to complain. In fact, I’ve stayed away from my blog for the past couple days because I just wanted to be alone. I’ve been mad, sad, grumpy, selfish, whiny and a whole host of other not-so-graceful things. But when I started this blog, I said it was my outlet and while I GREATLY appreciate each of you who have followed me, I am not writing for you but rather, for me.

So here’s why I’ve been so angsty. I was writing my book for NaNoWriMo and reached 50k words (yay!). But as December 1 rolled around, I found myself unable to continue. I hadn’t hit a creative block, because I know where my story is going,but I hit a different kind of pause, one where I actually kind of hate my book. I can’t even look at it. So I thought “Hey! I’ll just start a new one!” And when I got to work, I was trying to figure out a working title so I googled my ideas and lo and behold, someone already wrote the damn thing! I was so happy to have come up with a new idea and then so furious that someone beat me to it without my knowledge. So I stopped writing, which led me to not blogging. And now I have returned, idea-less and a little wispy.

I don;t know what to do. Writing has always been “my thing”. I turned to it when I was blue, when I was happy. Words have been my walls, the things which keep me in and others out. I sound so much more elegant when I write than I do in person. And to have no motivation to even catch a line of poetry has been a new experience for me.

It’s like having an itch on your back at that spot where you physically cannot reach so you scratch around it, and it subsides, but you can still feel it. It’s like finally deciding what you want to eat, being able to taste it in your mouth but knowing you don’t have any of it. It’s like waking up mid-dream and vaguely remembering this great idea, but you’re forgetting a really important part. It’s like going into a room and forgetting why, then leaving without remembering it at all. That’s what this feeling is. And it’s so ungodly frustrating. Writing has been my sole way to escape, to create and process. I never thought I was decent at visual art, music is far too personal to be anything less than a blissful experience. Writing was the way I broke through to the inner me and expressed all the things I didn’t want others to see for the exact purpose of letting them see.

So I’ve been on a break from myself. And I want to reconnect, but maybe I just need to let go first.

I wish to be a duck

I had this thought on the way to work today and I tried to reason it out. I could not, were I a water fowl, live in safety. There are humans who bring their guns to kill me, there are animals who bring their teeth and claws for the sole purpose to eat me or my children, there are humans who fill my home with waste and sewage, making it impossible for me to live a healthy life.

But.

There is a layer of fat, which causes me to be warm. There are always other birds with which to herald out the news. There are feathers, which would, at a moment’s notice, carry me off to anywhere I please, without so much as a thought about money, security or planning. There is no lack of colors with which I am covered, some changing hue in the irridescence of the sun. There are ponds, like the one at which I currently perch, that I may bathe freely. There are trees to shelter me, to feed me. 

I could be free.

  
But then my thoughts return to the present, and I am caught with two legs and a heart filled with hope. I would give it all up, everything I hold dear, to free my heart, to free myself from these constraints of gravity. I would soar above the clouds and straight into bliss, for that is where I truly belong, not stuck here with my shoes in the earth, smelling the decay of the leaves and whispering to the squirrels that come to me for sustinance. But here I am, smiling as they sing the song of my people, trumpeting like downy angels. One day, my fellow travelers, I shall join you in the sky. But until then, perhaps I will find contentment in just breathing the same air.

I’m not suffering from delusions, but as Alice herself once said, “I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” Truly though, would it not be fantastic to be a thing with cares so few and the power of wings?

In other news, I would also like to be a mermaid, but I seem to lack fins and that rant is for another day to come.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like A Novel

I’ve been hard at work on my NaNoNovel and there are some really amazing things which have occured. 

First, I’ve crossed the 16k word mark (32% done with NaNoWriMo 2015)

Second, I have a working title: The Queen of Souls.

Third, what started out as a YA Fantasy has now evolved into a ParaRom (something I NEVER expected)

And in honor of all that, for you week 2 spoiler, I have a working synopsis. It may change, but I’m confident that the main bits will remain (however, within 9 days I switched genres, so who knows where we will be by the end!)

Katerina Alkaevna has suffered through everything: losing her family to a fire as a child, an abusive boyfriend and being kidnapped. The only thing she’s never had a chance to do is fall in love. Upon meeting a tall, dark and steamy barista in her local town, she realizes that love might actually be the worst thing to ever happen to her-and that’s after she dies.

 Fighting to end a decades long war between the monarchs and the wasps and bring not only herself, but also her lover back from the dead, Katerina must embrace her destiny or lose everything she’s worked for. A crime of passion put her in this position and it will take nothing less to get her untangled from the threads of fate.

Thankfulness, Day Seven

Today’s message isn’t an abstract, it is very much a real thing, which I use to get me through the day.

Today’s the day about coffee. 

  
My dad drinks (no kidding) almost two pots of coffee each and every day. I don’t try to compete with that, but coffee is a VERY large portion of my day. I usually drink a half a pot, but somedays just suck a little more and so my intake goes up. Coffee is the way I get through my twenties, as I got through my time in high school.

All kinds, thanks for asking. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I’m comfortable taking my coffee black, but we’re almost there. If I’m making it myself, I have a drip machine and I brew anything from french to black silk to blonde. Then I add in some creamer and give it a stir. (I usually have 3 bottles of creamer in my fridge-all the big ones so I can have options). And if I’m going out, I’ll try something new each time. Going out doesn’t happen very often, so I try ot not over splurge, but you know it happens. I’m a Starbucks gold member (and have been since college started) but I really wish they would reform their standards about ethical consumption of products (A rant for another day). I almost tried the Tim Horton’s Pumpkin Spice Frappaccino, but the drizzle looked like chicken poop on top (I owned chickens-I would know) and I got grossed out. And at any rate, the coffee is so weak compared to how I drink mine, that the only reason I stop there is for baked goods. I deeply enjoy coffee houses.

Waking up is hard. My bed is comfortable, I enjoy sleep thoroughly. Pulling the sleepies from my eyes and yawning and stretching are all part of the daily routine. I pull my hair into a hair tie, watch the bits that aren’t long enough fall back down. And if it’s days like today, I stroll out to the kitchen and turn on my pot. While I wait, I gather my cup (which is actually a soup bowl with a handle (It’s decorated with little coffees, so it counts) and wgo back to my room to change into day clothes. By that time, coffee is mostly ready for a cup and so I pour the deep black goodness in and decide on a creamer. I love watching the little cloud of creamer turn the coffee colors. It’s what I know the coffee will do to me soon enough. I put my stir spoon on the sink, so I can come back for it and raise the cup to my lips and blow.The steam wafts over me, carrying the smell of my creamer (chocolate caramel lately). One sip and my eyes close in delight. Two sips and my brain turns on. By the time my coffee is cool enough to gulp, I’m already getting to work on whatever it is that I need to do today (like this blog, and my nanowrimo novel and the grocery list). One more cup will be savoured throughout the day as I work, maybe two more, and the rest will go in the fridge until I need it on Sunday.

I could write a whole book about how cofffee changes my life from the undead to fully functional member of society. A Zombie-Coffee Love Song.

Things, Excitement!

A little while ago I wrote about how my computer crashed and sent all my things-including the story I had been working on for over a year-to the abyss. I wrote about how I had an early edition on paper and that from the ashes I would rebuild. I’ve found that my scenario is the best thing that could ever happen to my creative license. 

As I look over the words that I wrote before, I can see what the editors and publishers saw. I can laugh about the mistakes I made in an eager attempt to get it done, the amateur manner in which my characters behaved. That was not the story I should have written. It was a mess.

So today, instead of fervishly trying to copy down the words that I had written to produce a terrible tragedy of a book, I scrapped the project for real. Not just starting over, but an entirely new story. Sure, the key points are still the same, and my ideas are really similar-but the presentation is completely different. I have new desires and so do my characters.

It will be darker, more believeable, more like the story I wanted to write but failed to before. What’s more, I will be able to say that I’m writing an entirely new story for this NaNoWriMo, because I will be. This time around, I won’t be hanging on to over-used lines and stereotypes but jumping into unknown territory with characters that feel as real to me as people I went to high school with. 

I think this is a great metaphor for my own life. I have a predetermined plan in my head, where I follow a plan that I made ages ago, saying the words that I have heard over and over before. I know that there are options out there, and that I have complete freedom to reach out and take hold of the new and the bold, but I’m so attached to the story I’ve already made. Believe me, I cried so hard when my manuscript disappeared. And I think that’s an entirely acceptable metaphor for life. I fight so hard to keep the outdated parts of me, just for the sake of saying “But see? I did this!” when what I really need to say is “But see? I’m making new paths!” I never like the change that is imposed upon me: graduating, moving, starting new jobs, making new friends, but in the end those changes are the exact reason I want to keep revising my chapters, my life.

So goodbye first draft, it’s been really nice getting to know you, but it’s time for a serious revision.

Hello new draft, I can’t wait to dig in and see where this story leads.

  

NaNoWriMo

Since I learned about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) last November, I’ve really rededicated my life to the pursuit of creativity. This year is no different. I want to take the time to invite you all to write this upcoming NaNoWriMo (November). If you are a member of their website, please feel free to add me as a buddy. My name is Michelle BB there. Of course, if you aren’t into writing, or if you haven’t the time, I encourage you to find your muse in other forms. I’ve been drawing to prep myself for some visual moments and I think I’ll be working on cover art soon. It’s going to be a wonderful November, and I hope to see you all there!

Best,

M.