Lost: Inspiration/Found: It and More
Nov 3, 2008 Thoughts and Perceptions
Something happened to me yesterday. Something major. I opened up my unfinished novel, after almost 3 months of not even attempting to finish it and I began to write. I didn’t stop until it was finished.
I have an idea of where the inspiration came from, but I am not sure if it is truth or not… But I watched the entire first season of Californication on Saturday. If you haven’t ever seen it… I absolutely recommend you check it out.
David Duchovny is cast as a cynical prick of a Novelist who is suffering from extreme writers block since his split from his long time girlfriend-slash-babiesmomma. She was his inspiration. At the end, after many episodes of assholish, alcohol induced disfunction, he is able to write again. Granted, his end product had a great deal to do with true-to-life events, but that doesn’t change the fact that he found his inspiration.
He found his inspiration. Seeing him find it (I think) caused me to find mine again.
It feels really good to have accomplished this. I know that most of you who read here that have come from myspace… know of this story. You have waited forever, so my accomplishment means that you get to see it through to fruition… and you get your (infamously referred to) ‘fix’… but for me it is more than that. As much as I am happy to share it, I wrote it for me. Myspace and blogging in general brought the writer out of me. I knew it was there all along, but now it is tangible.
151 pages tangible.
I am so proud of myself. Even if the world never accepts me and my writing, it is mine. I started it, owned it, and finished it. Me. Mine. No one can take that from me.
That is all I have for today.
Do you have anything that you have accomplished that has made you feel this way?
Please share it with me.
Tags: blogging, Californication, David Duchovny, inspiration, myspace, novel, pride, Submissive Confessions, writer, writing
Bookworm Buzzkill.
Sep 5, 2008 I Forgot to Tag
I love bookstores. I could spend hours inside, picking up and setting down a plethora of books while I make a decision on which one/s if any to purchase. So to an employee, it may look as if I am in shoplift-preparation.
Today, on a top-secret gift mission, I took my sweet lunchbreak time browsing to find the perfect book. The one that shouted “Hey! YOU! Pick me up! I am the perfect book for _____!!” So I browsed and flipped through at least 25 different picture books, journals, self help books and cookbooks. At one point I probably had 6 books piled on top of each other in my arms.
It was a bookworm-gasm. Novel bliss.
And then I saw it. The one. It yelled and danced and twirled about on the shelf to get my attention. It was a moment comparable to when Cordeuroy the Bear met his owner Lisa. Do any of you remember that story?
Anyramble, I found it. Annnnnnnnnnnd, I found another Marilyn Monroe coffee table book for myself. Her life in pictures.
I.was.tingling.
So I browse a bit more while waiting in line, my euphoric feeling present throughout my pores and skin. I could not wait to not only give the perfect gift, but to spend time thumbing through my new picture book. Were there any new pictures of her that I had never seen before?
Will there be pictures of her as a baby? A teenager??
The suspense was killing me.
I dont know about you, but I prefer not to suffocate my new book purchases in a bag. I like to hug them; press them close to my bosom as I walk out to my car. It reminds me of when I was a little girl leaving the library. I loved holding my books like they were babies. Tucked safely under my arm while I anticipated the Once upon a times and The End’s to come. In the back seat of my mom’s forest green Ford LTD, I would bury my face in them, breathing in their pungent aroma.
After I paid, nature called. I ran back to the bathroom to pee, carefully balancing my new purchases on my bare legs. As I was leaving the bathroom, I ran into an employee. She looked at me skeptically, running her eyes from my books to my face and back down again. I paid that broad no attention. I was too excited. Too pumped with bookworm euphoria to even think that she may have been wondering why I had these books with no bag in my arms as I was leaving the restroom.
So, I pushed past her, random displays of non-fiction new releases, other browsing customers and through the oak double doors into the sunshine. I was triumphant! My books and I were on our way home, and into the hands of their new proud owners.
Out of no where, I feel a strong hand press on my shoulder and pull me a step backward.
“Ma’am, I am going to need to see your receipt for these books.” Her manly voice boomed into my left ear, causing me to almost drop them onto the pavement.
I looked at her sweetly as I handed her the receipt. Smiling, I replied.
“Here you go. And hey! Thank you for accusing me of shoplifting! Now get your hands the hell off of me, and have a nice day!”
A couple of onlookers giggled at her expression while I walked toward my Jeep. She, flabbergasted and embarrassed stood there and stared at me, unable to respond. I waved, receipt still in hand as I drove past her. As a sat at the stoplight, I wondered why I was so angry. I realized that it wasn’t because she accused me… it was because she ruined my bookgasm.
It would be like having the most amazing sex with someone, and, while you lay there and enjoy the tingles and the after affects of your bliss, have them accuse of faking your orgasm.
Fucking bliss-stealing Bitch.
Have you ever been falsely accused of something so blatantly?
How did you react?
