Written Whispers

Wow, it’s a little weird going back to my laptop after having been on the bigger computer for so many months now. Don’t get me wrong, I still love my laptop but I really love how quickly everything works on the other comp- how it’s unmovable in the center of my writing nest, how when I turn it on I feel like I’m sitting down to work whereas sitting down with my laptop has become more of a plaything.

Still, since I’m at a friend’s house right now- the last one awake in the throes of insomnia, I’m glad to have brought it along so I could do some writing. Now that I’m trying to stick to a to do list once a week it’s become even more important to actually keep up with my tasks instead of procrastinating.

Happy spazzy right now. Wondering where my cell phone is and how hard it’s going to be for me to fall asleep. That aside I think I’m going to go work on a story for a bit and see how long it takes me to admit I’m not going to finish it tonight.

Good morning!

I’m excited. There’s still snow on the ground but it’s melting and the sun is out. Everything is ‘just’ crisply white and despite the odds I’m wide awake. We’ve opened up the cat kennel (a 3 by 3 by 5 cage they can walk out into from the house, birds fly through it and chipmunks take their chance) and the door is right by my little writerly nest so I can feel just enough of the air from beneath my mountain of blankets.

The kitties are quiet and up to little good but they’re happy so I’m happy. That and they’re very entertaining. Two of our little ones are leash trained so they’ve been vigilantly awaiting the arrival of spring and while it’s not here yet they know this is the first sign. The more reserved kitties- complete indoor cats with a fear of the great ceiling-less expanse beyond our home are still curiously exploring their own tiny sample of what it’s like to be a wild cat… or perhaps it’s something akin to watching a really good nature show. Where they just sit there and watch different creatures flit back and forth.

It’s beautiful. These are the kinds of days where waking up is more of a gentle thing than a process. Where peace comes easily, usually followed by a cup of tea an unhurried words spilling out onto my keyboard. The house is quiet but far from silent, each of us caught up in our own separate tasks and yet completely aware of each other. We’re not cut off, we’re not absorbed- computers robbing us from our time together. No, we’re parts of some greater thing moving together, enjoying the simple sounds we all make in our hushed movements.

Kei is working on some digital art project or another. My husband is checking the news before gaming swallows up his movements and I- well, I’m sitting here typing aren’t I?

We’re so different in our hobbies but so similar, finding a way to merge what we love with the serenity brought in this morning.

I really do love days like this.

Getting back on track. Really.

I can feel the words buzzing around in me ready to break loose. I have so many projects- so many things that are actually getting closer and closer to the finish line. I love it.

I’m thinking this stage of my writerly life is being dedicated to the art of revision. I know how to edit. I know how to correct and locate those naughty little typos but… I don’t think, at least looking at things through my current perception, I don’t think I’ve ever known how to look for the silver string between my words.

To clarify: I’m learning how to discern good writing from the crap. More so, I’m learning how to see the great writing hidden in the good- and how to let go of the good so the great can shine. Revision is a lot of cutting things up, moving scenes, discovering new directions, and a lot of other things I still haven’t figured out.

I’m also learning to look at it in a different light. Before it was seen as change, now I see it as transformation. Given- I still hate editing with a passion but as I work on more and more short stories I’m finding a small, but growing, thrill in it. It marks the first real end of the first real telling- when the words have been given enough power to draw the reader tight and hold them close for the duration of the journey.

I am a story teller. I have all these ideas and experiences that need to be told. Swimming around in my head like rabid fish searching for the perfect stream and dancing on the tip of my mental tongue whenever they have the chance.

I am a story writer. Ink- virtual, pen, or blood, is my chosen medium. Paper is my most base element. Together they keep my words for a time, allowing me to reach more people than I could have ever imagined.

I am a story wielder. I refine, and refine, and refine until my words are red and full like a well aged wine in a beautiful glass bottle. Fragile but unforgettable and even once the memory has gone- the experience will linger.

There are so many stages on the writer’s path. It’s beautiful.

Okay, so if you haven’t heard from me in awhile it’s for a good reason. First I was having this anti-social phase, it was quick and quiet and best of all- it’s over. Then I got sick- it’s either the flu or food poisoning. No details need be given about that. Lastly I’ve been away at a friend’s house for the past two days. I’m home now but I’m sick again so… I still might be a bit silent. This includes my presence on messenger, replying to emails, and answering phone calls.

It’s just not going to happen.

My Thursday appointment was canceled and given I was thinking about canceling it anyways, my whole week feels like it’s been thrown out of whack.

It’s been a strange week already.

Kinda stressed.