I am exhausted. I couldn't sleep for thinking of writing.
I couldn't resist; I had to throw that scene out there into the blogosphere, even though it had just been written and will get changed a lot in rewriting. When I do reread it, I will roll my eyes and be embarrassed that I put such a crummy piece of writing out into public view.
The end is in sight. I just have to wrap up a few loose ends and then section three of the story is finished. Section four now needs to be completely rewritten. That shouldn't take too long. I hope.
At that point, the story will be complete. I'm very excited about this prospect. I know now that the end of the story casts a whole new light on the rest of the story. Writing the end helps make clear everything that truly mattered. I want to know what the end of this story will be like.
My parents are working away at finishing their sections. Poor things. My style of writing is not their usual cup of tea, especially for my dad, who is much more into mystical Christianity and philosophy, at the moment. And chocolate covered Peeps.
However, they assure me that it's good writing, and entertaining. My mom said the flow of the story was especially good, she said it just carried her along. My editor friend told me the same thing, about the faerie tale. (Isn't it cool that I have an editor friend? I think so.)
Now that I'm writing so much, my leitmotifs are showing up. There is always the leaving of the real world, the escape. There is always the search for self identity and self confidence outside of the real world. The search for self actualization always takes place within the context of a love relationship with a much more settled and confident partner.
What a surprise, eh? I'm writing out my twenties, is what I'm doing. I wonder if when I'm forty, I'll be able to capture my thirties. I'm looking forward to watching my writing mature. In the meantime, boy, but I am having fun.
Thank goodness I am writing again. If I cannot write, and I cannot conceive, than my barrenness is overwhelming to me.
I have a hard time believing Osama Bin Laden is dead. It's surreal. I'm glad that he's dead, but it's strange to be happy that someone died.
