As much as I enjoy my job, the few weeks I spent on vacation with my writing I felt whole and alive in a way I had not known for years. I really had missed my writing. Now I miss it even more and why can’t I just do it and stop using work as an excuse for neglecting it…? It’s not an excuse. If I really do want to give my all on the job then my energy reserve gets depleted (I see a case for the return of the daily cup of joe).
And even though since I’ve been back at work, I haven’t had extended periods to devote to it, I’m constantly thinking about it. Unfortunately I feel as if I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm for work. It’s still there, without a doubt, I absolutely love the classroom, but as I interact with the texts, I’m sometimes thinking, I could try this technique in my piece, or my characters are getting some shape; I discover something new about my characters, or I hear something they say, but I can’t always scribble it when I’m in the middle of delivering a lecture or just somewhere unable to put it down. I was wondering why I felt luke-warm recently and now I see it’s just the need to get back to my leavening characters.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on, that I’ll never feel whole until purge these thoughts from my head? There is this character that is nagging me and I just have to get her out of my head. Is this how schizophrenia feels, because pardon the lunatic sound of this, this character has appeared full formed of her own accord, her words just pop into my head at the oddest of times. And I don’t even particularly identify with her. Then there are these people in her life who have appeared fully formed too. Funny thing I thought when characters appeared, that they were usually aspects of one’s personality, but that’s not even immediately apparent to me.
I just have this need to tell this character’s story because while much of it there, I don’t know where it’s going and I don’t know what’s going to happen to her. Is this writing without discipline? I am inclined to say not at all. I have this idea where I want the story to go, but I just feel as if there is something about this character I haven’t discovered yet. You know what, I can’t wait to find out. And that’s why I NEED to write. It’s gotten to the point where it’s nagging me. It’s not the simplicity of reading, and the unknown lies a few pages away. It’s the necessity of being silent and letting the character speak.
I see a weekend hibernation up ahead.
And even though since I’ve been back at work, I haven’t had extended periods to devote to it, I’m constantly thinking about it. Unfortunately I feel as if I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm for work. It’s still there, without a doubt, I absolutely love the classroom, but as I interact with the texts, I’m sometimes thinking, I could try this technique in my piece, or my characters are getting some shape; I discover something new about my characters, or I hear something they say, but I can’t always scribble it when I’m in the middle of delivering a lecture or just somewhere unable to put it down. I was wondering why I felt luke-warm recently and now I see it’s just the need to get back to my leavening characters.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on, that I’ll never feel whole until purge these thoughts from my head? There is this character that is nagging me and I just have to get her out of my head. Is this how schizophrenia feels, because pardon the lunatic sound of this, this character has appeared full formed of her own accord, her words just pop into my head at the oddest of times. And I don’t even particularly identify with her. Then there are these people in her life who have appeared fully formed too. Funny thing I thought when characters appeared, that they were usually aspects of one’s personality, but that’s not even immediately apparent to me.
I just have this need to tell this character’s story because while much of it there, I don’t know where it’s going and I don’t know what’s going to happen to her. Is this writing without discipline? I am inclined to say not at all. I have this idea where I want the story to go, but I just feel as if there is something about this character I haven’t discovered yet. You know what, I can’t wait to find out. And that’s why I NEED to write. It’s gotten to the point where it’s nagging me. It’s not the simplicity of reading, and the unknown lies a few pages away. It’s the necessity of being silent and letting the character speak.
I see a weekend hibernation up ahead.
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