There is something freeing for me in using my words. I was up until about 3 AM last night, working on a novel I started during the Christmas season in 2013. I never thought I really had a novel lying around between my ears. I started writing then and got about 60 pages (in a Word document) completed.
Then, of course, life got in the way. It's not healthy or practical to stay up until 3 AM (ever really, but even to do it a couple of nights a week really takes it toll. The solution would seem to be that I should write while Doug is napping. In reality, I am exhausted usually by the time he is napping. I like quietly sitting on the couch, watching Bones and playing on my phone.
I think fundamentally, though, I am a creative type who can't have fulfillment or peace if I am not creating something. I desire to get my house in order so that I can start scrapbooking again. I started scrapping back in 2002 and then I started working at Hobby Lobby. That meant I accumulated a lot of scrapping stuff but never really had time to scrap.
My kids have started studying one of the two scrapbooks I've completed and they seem to enjoy them. I will say, I don't make exquisite layouts or craft masterpieces, but I am good at telling stories that accompany the pictures. That, to me, is an important and enduring quality for scrapbooking. Someday, I won't remember what it was like to show Scout and Rascal snow for the first time. But my kids can look at the book and the words I've printed will help them.
I get so stuck in the mire of my depression (from what I've been told, very creative people are quite prone to depression...and alcoholism, for that matter) that I forget how soothing it is to immerse myself in creative activities.
I recently reread the Hunger Games trilogy. In the second book, Catching Fire, Katniss and her cohorts encounter a deadly fog in the arena. It leaves them with awful sores all over their bodies. After they manage to drag themselves out of the jungle, they crawl to the water. Katniss is the first to discover that putting her damaged skin under the water draws the poison out. I think I can understand the feeling she has, which is described as both painful and wonderful.
That's how I feel when I write, create, dream, draw, etc. It's funny because I had written about 60 pages last year. This past Christmas, when I went to revisit the novel, I realized that by some twist of fate, about 40 pages had gone missing. Not sure what happened and I am not taking extra measures to save my work. That being said, the novel is progressing in a different way than I thought it would when I started a year or so ago.
It was tough to find out I had lost so much effort, but then it's been wonderful to be able to keep moving forward in the direction I want (without having to go back and change as much). I don't expect that this novel will make me rich and famous. That's really okay with me. I was glancing at the stats for this little blog, the one with a squidgy focus and a small readership.
I am reaching people in Poland, Canada, Russia, places I've never visited. That blows my mind. I have decided that I appreciate the fact that my words are universal to all walks of life. I am going to pursue this passion I have for writing. I don't know where it will lead. (I'm not gonna lie, if they ever make it into a movie and I get to meet some celebrities, that would be mind-blowing. Not at all probable, but it's something I daydream about. Have to be real about what is going on in the grey matter.) I am hoping that it leads me closer to feeling fulfilled and peaceful.
I hope my readers will stay with me for this journey. I promise, you'll probably have a good time.
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