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Nothing Ever Happens in March...

Wait, check the calender. It's May. May. Not March. Right, got it.

But to my point. I'm writing stories. Hopefully, you already know this. If not, I'll fill you in... I'm actively writing 4 stories: Dreaming in Shadow, Miss Masquerade, Magic Inc. (Book 1), and Spun of Silver. The first three of those stories aproximately follow a school year, at least for most of the story. And somehow, they are all stuck in March, waiting for the big things that start to happen in April or May.

The strange part is that, in my life, March has been a month of changes. Often, painful in one way or another. But it doesn't seem to be happening in the way I've lined up these stories. Or maybe, I should say that I'm now trying to make it happen, and I'm having issues. I do think that I'm on the path of figuring out how to make March a month of changes for Miss Masquerade and Dreaming in Shadow, but Magic Inc. is being resistant. If only I could remember 4th grade better. And I thought I had a great memory...

I have to say though, that writing is going extremely well lately. Last week, I wrote over 15 pages, which is insane for me. And this week, I've already written about 8. The reason seems to be pretty simple. Truthfully, my emotions have been all over the place. And I really started to wonder if my writing - Spun of Silver, in particular - was fueling my depression, or if my depression was fueling my writing. As in most cases, I think it was a little of both.

But why is it so much harder for me to write Spun of Silver, when Magic Inc. is also directly about me? The simple answer there is that SoS me is the real me, the right now me... as close as it can be. And even though, as the writer, I know that Morgan loves me endlessly, this me is full of doubts and scared. Just as the real me is terrified of never finding her soulmate. Every word I write is completely true and real for me. And this feeling I have now is wondering if Morgan can feel me where ever he is out there. I feel like I keep calling out with no response. How do you not start to fill with fear and doubts when that happens?

Instead, all I want to do lately is sleep. And dream. And write. I need to live in the places, where even the ignored, unpretty little girl, who nobody wanted, who nobody's ever even kissed, has a soulmate. And he loves her endlessly.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
therentyoupay
May. 16th, 2012 12:20 pm (UTC)
And I really started to wonder if my writing - Spun of Silver, in particular - was fueling my depression, or if my depression was fueling my writing. As in most cases, I think it was a little of both.

Although I can't relate entirely since I have been fortunate in that I have never been plagued with such an exhausting, perplexing, and terrible condition, I can definitely say that I know what you mean about your writing fueling your emotions and vice-versa. I definitely feel like getting out the pen or the word document is like opening the flood gates sometimes... sometimes, I feel so blocked that nothing comes out and other times I'm honestly just letting the stream of consciousness flow. But what I write or read and how I feel are so intricately intertwined, all of the time.
fireflys_locket
May. 16th, 2012 01:05 pm (UTC)
Yes, writing can be dangerous work. Sometimes, you feel relieved when you get your emotions out. Other times, you feel worse. Same thing with therapy, trust me. And that makes sense as I always feel that writing is, for me, a form of therapy. That's why I turned to it when I was alone at school. It was just a natural fit.
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