I think these sorts of emotions flood into my life whenever I've spent time in creation. Right now, I'm looking for an exhale, looking for some sort of chance to stop constantly forming words and creating worlds and characters and situations and gut wrenching turns...and in the place is a vacuum.
Just a vacuum. I know I've gone away for a spell, and that's all well and good. Right now, I'm in this odd sort of limbo because I had people around here that I got along great with and now I find communications with them to be nothing more than sparse at best.
I wear the onus, especially considering the fact that as I've been writing, as I've been gearing up these last few months to be sending out pieces to creative writing journals and the like, I have been around and so have they.
Perhaps it is taking for granted even the base levels of human communication. That will all be there, but right now it's time for writing...I would think. But I can't just go full bore intensity with it because the process is too draining. There needs to be a vegging out period, a release. I understand, now, why writers turn to alcohol and hard drugs; it's an effort to stave off the tumultuous emotional spikes you go through in a writing process.
I don't think most people will get or understand this, and that's fine.
Maybe it's just a lazy Monday evening with a sink full of dishes and a deadline coming up in less than three days that I don't want to meet, but have to. Maybe it's the overwhelming sense of wanting to reconnect with people I've put off for too long.
Which isn't to say there are huge problems, that somewhere in this that there is this driving sense that situations must be rectified.
It's just that I haven't been able to exhale, to actually enjoy the fruits of this spike of rare consistency that is coming through in my writing.
I just want to...breath.
Just a vacuum. I know I've gone away for a spell, and that's all well and good. Right now, I'm in this odd sort of limbo because I had people around here that I got along great with and now I find communications with them to be nothing more than sparse at best.
I wear the onus, especially considering the fact that as I've been writing, as I've been gearing up these last few months to be sending out pieces to creative writing journals and the like, I have been around and so have they.
Perhaps it is taking for granted even the base levels of human communication. That will all be there, but right now it's time for writing...I would think. But I can't just go full bore intensity with it because the process is too draining. There needs to be a vegging out period, a release. I understand, now, why writers turn to alcohol and hard drugs; it's an effort to stave off the tumultuous emotional spikes you go through in a writing process.
I don't think most people will get or understand this, and that's fine.
Maybe it's just a lazy Monday evening with a sink full of dishes and a deadline coming up in less than three days that I don't want to meet, but have to. Maybe it's the overwhelming sense of wanting to reconnect with people I've put off for too long.
Which isn't to say there are huge problems, that somewhere in this that there is this driving sense that situations must be rectified.
It's just that I haven't been able to exhale, to actually enjoy the fruits of this spike of rare consistency that is coming through in my writing.
I just want to...breath.
