I few days ago I read this quote from Sylvia Plath. It really stuck with me for several reasons. I too go through periods of wanting to excel and experience as much as possibly can with the brain I was given at birth. I’m convinced at some point it might’ve been a cruel joke to only give me a limited supply of brain cells. I know Sylvia Plath suffered from depression most of her life. I know she did her best to keep it all together while raising a family. I know she’s not the only one to be labeled the “tortured artist or writer.” In some ways all writers and artists are tortured in one shape or form. We all go through ups and downs, but I’m telling you, hands down, there’s a certain kind of creativity one pulls from major trauma, that a non-writer or artist can’t understand. It’s similar to a former smoker wanting to smoke again after five or twenty years of quitting. It’s so easy to fall down that path again. It’s so easy to pick up a cigarette again.
I decided to scrap my second novel I was working on and my third novel I was working on when I got stuck on my second one. Now, I’m working on my fourth novel because I’m stuck on both my second and don’t find the appeal (at the moment) for the third one. I’ve written three chapters, so far, and it will be a novel that I’m sort of writing at a whim, by the seat of my pants as you say. I’m trying this method out because I’ve sick of struggling so much with my two other novels that yes, I will get back to once I’m done writing my first draft of my second novel idea. Wasn’t that a bunch of nonsense I just wrote? Does it make sense? Maybe not but frankly, sometimes writing is more for you and less for who might read it. I take great consideration in most everything I write. This time not so much. This isn’t to say I don’t give a shit about my writing, but what I am writing will be freer flowing than anything I have written before and will ever write again. So, without further ado. I’m going back to writing my fourth chapter with no illusions, the story might not make too much sense by the end. This is what the rewrite is for although I don’t want to spend months on it. I have a feeling this will be my freedom story where I start fresh and look forward to the second half of my life.
What resonates with me? Quite a bit these days. I saw a quote in a bathroom. I don’t know why but I took a photo of it. I’ve since lost that photo, but I remembered what it said. Because I want to waste more of my precious time, I decided to copy and paste a red heart underneath it and post it on this blog. It isn’t as soulful as what Sylvia Plath said above. I’m trying hard to see the positive in whatever situations I am dealing with and learning to really trust in the process of life (no matter how challenging it is and believe me it is very challenging). I would much rather be busy at a 9 to 5 job and trying to find the time to fit into my schedule all my interests/hobbies. Whether I feel a little bit of anything in my life, I suppose I do. Whether it’s feeling grateful, it’s a tiny speck, if that. You probably can’t even see it with a high-powered magnifying glass. I’m neither here nor there at the moment. What I can say, each day, is I’m finding more purpose and reason to continue breathing. As a person who grapples with her past off and on in private (for the most part), for what it’s worth, I’m still here.