A heartfelt post. Lianna. You better. Read this. It concerns you.

[angelak]

This week has been like running uphill.
It’s that feeling that you’re exerting lots of energy, and not going anywhere fast.
Though I know it’s okay not to be flying down the road of accomplishments, and that it isn’t something that I can always maintain—I tend to get used to it just the same.

I’ve done some very good things for myself this week...
And yet my body still tells me it’s tired, and my brain still tells me to slow down.
So I’m reminding myself not to be quite so frustrated about my level of efficiency.

Addicted once again to my dormant Anne Rice fetish, I read every day on lunch for a little while. This seems to set my mind at ease. I feel inspired again. She always inspires me, as a writer, as a human, as everything that I am. I know it’s silly, just a bunch of crazy, sexy, vampire and witchy books... why should that inspire me?

Though, the thought crossed my mind the other day...
“If she inspires half the people who read her books as much as she has me, that’s a huge feat...”

I wish I could be awe-inspiring like that. I mean, she marked me as a person and was a part of my growing. It is also her writing style that brought me this rich, full inspiration. Not the stories, but the style, the wit, the outright beauty in it.
The fact that it envelopes me, and takes me away from my life as I know it.

And that’s what I used to love about my own writing. It was a world I created that wasn’t this world. I could always go there. It would cradle me, and make all my sadness fade.

It was also the pride, after I released it into the hands of friends, not at all by pure intent of them reading it. In fact, I always twitched and squirmed when I knew they read it. It was Elissa demanding me to write more to Distant Lands. It was Lianna insisting and threatening to clobber me if I didn’t continue.

It was even bitchy Kelsi, [I love her dearly, but...] telling me she refused to read it until I had written 100 typed pages. Which I did, and she never has read DL.

It was the fact that Peggy liked it. It was Elissa, relishing over the darkness, when she herself was a bright individual. It was this secret self-validation, knowing that these people wanted my writing. That Lianna would spend her time editing it for me. That I was the creator. It was my art.

So, while I’ve been reading and becoming inspired and spending some time to myself, I feel a bit weary anyway.

I am looking forward to a small get together on Saturday, at my place. I will need to pick up a bit, I’m a little sheepish over the fact that I’ve been a slob this week, too.

Excitement. I haven’t gotten liquored up in some time. My plan is to be at the very least, comfortably wasted in the company of good people. What could be better? I enjoy a few drinks. I cannot deny. Moderation is the key to everything.

So, I have some goals. I will be dropping the sweetie off at the airport Saturday morning. This is bittersweet. I do know that once he leaves, it’ll be a combination of satisfaction that I will have a whole week to myself... and the reluctance that goes with it. No warm, attractive figure late at night beside me, aiding the depth of my sleep. Though—I may be able to focus on things I need to get done more, without his comfortable presence.

I am trying to renew myself on more than one level.
Here are a few of my goals that I may or may not accomplish in the week that my hot planner is gone:

1- Read more.
2- Write something half decent. I mean, USE my passion as a writer. Angela the writer died 3 or 5 years ago when she was at Lake Washington Tech.... the tech guru Angela murdered the writer.
3- PERHAPS attempt cleaning the side room, though THIS is a tall order.
4- Take it easy.
5- Some technical projects.
6- Some magickal meditating and path work. Solitarily.
7- Get my spiral ring stretched. Though I may alternate between rings on the left hand due to the variety that I have amassed, and my affection for each one, as if they were each unique lovers.
8- Haircut, perhaps?
9- OH yeah. Take the Camaro to be emissions tested. *IT WILL PASS. IT WILL PASS... IT WILL PASS.....***

I think of all these the writing is a priority. Though sometimes I feel like my home is not conducive to my writing. Not once at my current residence have I felt inspired to write.

I am not sure why... though I feel that this, too, must change.
Perhaps I need to cleanse my bedroom space.
I wrote best when I had no friends or was unable to do anything but write, in a lonely state.

I’m not lonely anymore.

*shrugs*

Hm.

Distant Lands feels impossible to pick up again and carry on. I am not Karen, who began writing Distant Lands. I’m no longer than girl. I’m Angela, and I am someone else.

The insecurity that my writing level has not changed, though no doubt it has.
The insecurity that one might read it and scoff. “You write like a middle-schooler. A prepubescent little girl.”

Foolishness, I know. How can I become any better, and how can I expand and grow, or even know if that’s true, if I wallow in my insecurity.

There are so many authors out there. Millions who write and create and are what they are. How can I possibly contend to these faceless people? Though it is no competition, and this is what comforted me about my writings of Distant Lands. It was my own, and there was no one who rivaled me. There was no one who would mimic my piece.

The reality is, that even if there were, it would not matter.
And I think this Anne Rice rampage is awakening that writer inside of me, and I am sifting through the fears that Lianna and I both know I need to face.

How much Lianna’s understanding means to me, I should publicly announce.
Though the two of us be a stubborn breed when mixed together, so much alike and so much different—the sheer friendship we’ve shared is endlessly important.

I thought I’d best say this now.
Before anything crazy like non-speak occurs. I refuse to get in a spat with her now. I think we need each other. And I say this because I know what trials she has. And I think as though I may do my best to encourage and bring her uplift—she can do the same with my own silly fears as a writer.

You—Lianna, are also the only one who truly understands the demon’s lair.
I mention the demon’s lair, as it fatefully brought us together. Something truly evil gave birth to beauty. This, is a lesson I have learned again and again in the last 3 years.


That is my post.

Much love,
-Angela

P.S.
Maybe I will be known by my writing once again. Maybe I won’t.
Details. Details. Regardless:
The one person who will gain access to any of it is nobody herself.
Rest assured.

Comments

I read it...

[nobodyberry.livejournal.com]

It is true that, as much as we have the power to piss each other off or offend one another, we also have the power to fill great voids in each other's life. And as much as I have issues about certain things, I'm getting to the point of not worrying too much about it anymore. I do feel as if the time will come for me to reveal a few deep sentiments, but I do not fear angst between us. We've proven that we can overcome it and maintain a lasting friendship.

And as for the writing bit, I just now became idly curious about something. Does your writing have to be yours alone, or can it be a shared experience? For instance, if I were to start a story and send it to you, would you add to it and send it back, and so on? I do wonder how a thing like that would turn out... Anyway, just a random thought.

[centeruniverse.livejournal.com]

I would be honored to read anything you wrote, just so you know.

:)

[ithisia.livejournal.com]

Thanks.
:)))

-Angela