So I was thinking today about how my head is full of characters. Beautiful, wonderful, exciting characters. But none of them have stories. How do I write the stories? Where are they? I sit and I write, I sit and I write, and all that comes out is pages upon pages of character description. I can't make these people do anything!!!

anna melcon bond


"Some people hear the rule 'Write every day' and do it and don't improve. They are just being dutiful. That is the way of the Goody Two-shoes. It is a waste of energy because it takes tremendous effort to just follow the rules if your heart isn't into it. If you find that this is your basic attitude, then stop writing. Stay away from it for a week or year. Wait until you are hungry to say something, until there is an aching in you to speak. Then come back."

~Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

The Great Tragedy

Why is writing an ordeal? When did it become a chore? Why do I turn it into something complex? When I was younger I couldn't wait to get to the page. I spent hours in school writing stories in Lisa Frank notebooks. I just sat down and wrote and the stories came to me. The process made me happy. Now it's like pulling teeth. Now I hold my head in my hands like I've just experienced a tragedy. I guess when you try too hard at anything it becomes complex. Why can't I stop trying and just DO???


Photo by Adam Lyon

photo: Denis Kornilov

"Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up."

~Stephen King

Photo by Smaragdin

I've been thinking a lot about my creative path to success and realized I'm not exactly where I intended to be.

In a counseling session many moons ago I was instructed to create a life map. It could be any medium, so I literally drew a map with winding roads and I put a car at the beginning of the road and its first stop was college. I wanted to finish college with a bachelor's degree, maybe a masters or MFA if I was feeling particularly ambitious. The next stop was a job I would enjoy and a job that would further my career in the publishing world. I drew two options for places I would find this job. Palm trees for California. Skyscrapers for New York. I was not going to stay in Texas past my college graduation. That was just out of the question.

I can't remember where the winding road led. I think it trailed off the paper to happily ever after.

But here's the thing. A) I fell in love at age 20. That certainly wasn't on the life map. Up until that point I thought boys hated me. I thought I'd be single forever. No man to tie me down. Fortunately, it did happen. There were some bumps along the way (some very bumpy bumps), but here we are almost 5 years later.

B) I finished college and took a job at a local magazine, but I hated it! It probably didn't help that I was working for a magazine whose theme didn't interest me in the least bit, but I am grateful for the experience.

C) Bills, bills, bills, and all the extra stuff life throws at you that costs mucho dinero. I quit my job at the magazine to be with my boyfriend in "small town" Florida. Lack of jobs, for sure. I had to get something before my savings ran out. I didn't have time to think about whether or not this or that job would further my writing career. When you have to pay the bills and there aren't a lot of job options, you take what you can get! Of course my family and boyfriend helped me and I did get a rather interesting job at a funeral home, so again, I'm grateful.

D) Must go where the money is. It's true that my boyfriend chose a lucrative career in the computer world and he'll probably always make more money than me. That's why we moved to Tennessee. I didn't have to follow him. I could've decided to go at it single and move to New York and live in a box and maybe get a job as an editorial assistant, but I didn't. There's love again.

So...I didn't go completely off the life path. I graduated college, got a job in publishing, and moved out of state, but things didn't go exactly as planned. Do they ever?

I'm not unhappy and I don't regret anything. I'm grateful for all the experiences, but I have been thinking...and it's always the same thing. When will I be able to do something I half care about? If I had it my way, I'd stay home and write. Not worry about a full-time job, but that's not possible at this time. I have bills. My boyfriend has bills. There's money, but not enough to go around.

And it's not that I dread going to work everyday. My job is all right. But I don't care about any part of it and I hate that feeling. I know I won't put my all into anything I do because my heart isn't in it. And it doesn't seem like there are a lot of options for me in this neck of the woods.

The good thing is I can go home, leave work at work, and continue working on the things I do love and care about. I can be a writer wherever I am in life.

Photo by CinemaCowgirl

"If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."

~Toni Morrison

I love this quote by Neil Gaiman, on the tribulations of story ideas:

"In your head, it's wonderful, brilliant, fabulous. Then you sit down to write and it becomes a shadow."

Good to know I'm not the only one who feels like she's watching the most incredible movie inside her head, only to realize it's not that great on paper. Not in the beginning, at least.

No more excuses

"I need to work on my poetry."
"What about that other story I started?"
"Maybe I need to research a bit more."

No. No. No. I'll do anything to avoid starting my novel, but this story has been on my mind for three years and I've read almost every book I could possibly read in the name of research. There's nothing left to do but write.

Many people say we make excuses and put off writing (or whatever our passion happens to be), not because we actually have more important things to do, but because we're scared. I'm not going to pretend that's not true, because it is! I *am* scared. I'm scared of the whole process and all the work and isolation it's going to involve. I'm scared nothing will even come out. All the beautiful images. The perfect movie in my head. It's not going to happen like that, but I have to remember:

~ It's okay to write crap. I will write and not edit. Just let everything flow out first, no matter how horrible, then go back and put the pieces together.
~ If When I finish this story, that doesn't mean my job is over. Prepare for years of rejection, tons of rewrites, lots of crying.
~ When I feel like giving up, don't! This story is meant to be. There's no time like the present to write my first book.

To anyone who is reading this, please hold me accountable to my words.

Like that Gwen Stefani song says, "Whatcha waiting for?"



~Update~

Just saw this quote from Ernest Hemingway. It's so appropriate for this post, and it made me laugh out loud :)

"The First Draft of Anything is Shit"

Get to work...

Everyday I get a lovely and inspring poem sent to my inbox via Poetry Chaikhana. These lines, from today's poem "Screening its face amongst lotus stalks," particularly spoke to me:

Let no obstacle stand in your way;
get to work --
you are young and fresh.
Break this fake sleep and snap out of your dreams

I am always in a dream state, and this state usually consists of grandeur dreams of fame and fortune. Yes, my first novella will most certainly be the talk of the town, BUT...it must be written first :)

Just us chickens (the dog and me)

I wasn't too excited about the Memorial Day weekend on Friday because the beau left to New Mexico for a week, but the first day is always the hardest. I always settle into being alone after the first day, and this weekend has been rather delightful!



I finished three of the Paris in Springtime tags and I'm rather proud of them! It's the first time I've made tags and they're addictive.



I did some journaling and reading on the balcony on Saturday. I bought C'est La Vie. A lovely book about the French life from an American's point of view.



Today I made cinnamon rolls and drank raspberry tea.

Other wonderful things~
* I also bought Paris When it Sizzles. Have you noticed that in two of Audrey Hepburn's movies she falls in love with a writer?
*Painted my nails "pure ice peony"
*Had a big cup of white chocolate mocha and a white chocolate chunk macadamia cookie
*I eat way too many sweets :)
*Watched Marie Antoinette. Only my second time to see it. Such a drool worthy film.

The days have been filled with warm winds and sunshine putting freckles on my arms.

And there's another day left!

And now for some rambling...

I sent my competition submission off to Writer's Digest today. I don't think I'll be as lucky as I was last time because this time I sent a poem. I couldn't gather enough time or motivation to write a short story. Sad, but true. So I'm not so sure about the chances of a poem winning the grand prize. I think a story would have more of a chance because there's more substance to a story. Know what I mean? I think it'd have to be an amazing poem to win grand prize. I don't mind winning a top place in the poetry category though. I'm just not holding my breath for the $3000.

In other news...I don't like to complain, but when I do complain it will always be about the weather. I come from a desert climate, which suits me just fine. I don't care for rain or clouds or partial clouds, and anything below 90 is cold. Which brings me to Knoxville. It's a lovely place, but it's May and only 75 degrees. My hometown in Texas has already reached 100. You see the shock I'm going through here? I realize I shouldn't be complaining, but I am very cold natured and prone to grumpiness when the sun isn't fully visible. I walk outside and it's not hot. My skin isn't melting off my bones, and that makes me want to kill someone.

Please forgive my ranting.

If only you could see what I see...

I finished end to torment, a memoir of Ezra Pound whilst on my lunch break. Well, not entirely. I still have to read "Hilda's Book," which is at the end. It's a collection of poems Ezra wrote to Hilda. I'm pretty excited about it because sadly, I've never read any of EP's pre-modernism work and I don't care much for his modernist ramblings.

Finishing the book and reading through a rather large biography on H.D. prompts me to start writing the story I have in mind. It will be based on their relationship. But another part of me just wants to keep researching. I think it's an excuse, really. I have enough to start writing, but perhaps I'm afraid. Afraid the beautiful things I have in my mind won't transfer onto paper. Well, of course they won't! Not at first. Haven't I learned that by now?

I once got a fortune that read, "You are good with words and should write a book." I plan on taking that advice, but just have to stop writing all these books in my head. People aren't mind readers!