How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart…

Yes, it’s been a while. No, that doesn’t mean I’ve not been writing. However, the nature of my writing has taken a more….technical turn.

With NanoWriMo right around the corner, I’ve been plagued by the ghosts of nano’s past…one more than most 😉 Yes, you know who you are.

It seems that the echoes are getting louder…

Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to participate in nano this year. Mostly because last year it literally drove me CRAZY! Trying to compete with small children for a block of uninterrupted one on one time with characters you really want to pay attention to is impossible.

They whisper to me. A sound only I can hear…

I consider myself the ultimate trooper though! And this year I’ll be jumping headlong into the abyss that we all know and love. Murky and thick blackness that could literally be anything at all.

I ache for the story that stretched before us. A lazy Sunday afternoon…

Who knows what awaits me at the end of November? All I know is, if I never begin…I can never end.

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The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about my NaNoWriMo project. The Clock Countdown stands at 15 days, and I’m just beginning to revel in the early stages of complete panic.

As far as novel ideas go, mine is pretty tame.

Girl falls in love, finds she is more than she thought, discovers a whole new identity, and saves the day.

Fascinating….and pretty boring.

I’ve wondered  for the past two weeks, why it’s taken me so long to get the story out of me, (it’s been an idea sitting in my head for over a year now…) and I’m thinking maybe that’s why.

The story itself just doesn’t excite me.

And if it doesn’t excite me, then what hope do I have in tickling a reader?

I know what you’re going to say. There is time to fix it. I know there is, and I will–and that brings me to the point of my blog topic today.

“The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.”

Somewhere along the timeline of my life, this little nugget branded itself on my heart. For the longest time now, I had no idea it existed within me, or that this was actually something I felt very passionately about. And still, I wonder at exactly what it is that the sentiment means to me–because I can read that two ways…

I’m complicated, I know.

Slowly, it is beginning to emerge as nothing else in my life ever has, and make itself known. And no where is that beginning to be more clear, than in my writing.

I left a friend of mine this evening, with a question hanging in the air. Of course, it was about writing…kinda. The question really had to do with what I would write, if it was possible to make real whatever it was I printed. It’s a heavy thought.

If you could write anything, and have it actually transform before your eyes–what would it be?

There is only one thing I could think of that I’d want. And I have to apologize for dragging you all the way down here and then leaving you hanging by not telling you what it is I’d write. (If you were really paying attention, you already know.) But really–that’s not the point.

The idea is to let your own mind wander and figure out what it all means…to you.

And that, dear reader, is what NaNoWriMo does. I can’t wait to see where the journey leads.

We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us.

For the past couple weeks, I’ve been hashing out a scene. ONE scene…and it’s very near driven me to the point of madness. It’s a scene I’ve seen at least a hundred times in my dreams–each time with varying degrees of clothing, (yeah, it goes there.)

Now, while dreaming about it is all fun and games, actually pouring it out onto the paper is proving to be quite painful. And I know why. For my character–it’s a goodbye. And goodbyes are never fun. They rip the soul out and stomp it into the ground, leaving a pitiful heap of something once recognizable behind.

It’s more than that, however. Because if it were that simple, this particular part of the story would have been done a long while ago–probably right after that first hot and steamy dream. It’s an overwhelming desire to not let go. My brain says one thing, my heart quite another.

So what do you do in a situation such as this? You remember that writing is an exploration of self. Actually, most of the times I’m shocked by where the journey takes me. Once you think that way, there is really only one option–and that’s to finish the scene and ultimately to let go…

 

You are tired, (I think)…

At this very moment in time, while the sheeting rain lashes out at my window, and I’m listening to the keyboard tap, tap, tapping vaguely disguised hints… This is what is running thorough my mind.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings