Sometimes I think I should just stay away from larger projects like a short story. The resulting panic attacks just seem to mount up over the weeks.
I wonder if I’ll ever be cut out to write some of the novels I have in my head?
Retreating into the small once again; this bit was a short story that I scuttled because it was headed for a melancholic end.
Vanessa lived in her thoughts, in a bed her own, her alone; on the favorable position of the second floor overtop the apartment manager’s office. She had sights elevated and distant from her window sill, but no tenants to consider when the sun fell and her feet began to pace to her mind’s crescendo. Passing the days warm and asleep limited her opportunities to meet another. Nights dedicated to technical writing and editing squandered her chance for midnight romances or beers with a pal.
The hermit’s life suited her, but some evenings saw her pained, wrought with envy for the waning sun gifting its last rays through her shuttered window.
She dreamed a wave and a smile would wait for her on the cul-de-sac, eager to trade faces and first names and an intention to love; but when she peered through the blinds, reality drew an empty road, and she resorted to familiar vices to persevere this despair.
Blog articles, news feeds, movie reviews… her computer engaged her mind and spun her thoughts to challenge the enlightenment of society. She read from the branches of good thoughts charged by motifs emotional and pure; wished to connect and delve deeper into racism and sexism and greed and dig up the rot in the roots; but she settled for pushing “like” buttons instead.
She checked her mail for work updates and a request from human resources to transfer her tasks to Courtney, the other writer. Two more hours at the office would see Vanessa earning overtime pay for the rest of the month; and so it was suggested -without option- that she exercise her vacation days; and she sighed.
Vanessa enjoyed sneaking poetic quips past the rule of her informational diatribe; treading the boundaries shared between technical and creative writings; earning snickers and compliments as her boss reviewed her manuals.
Work served her challenges and her challenges to structure.
Idleness allowed her to kick feet on her bed and read and muse; but this night her legs fell heavy and resisted her whimsy.
I might pick this one back up. For now I’m following the advice of Extra Dry Martini and I am moving in baby steps. “Just get a scrap done”, “Just get a blog post in”, and the like.
Here’s a nice piano arrange I’ve been into lately, which I’ve been listening to out of kkcwkoh’s youtube channel:
Mysterious Mountain, arranged by Senpi. Original by ZUN.
If you have any thoughts on keeping the passion-train rolling… what works for you, muses you’d like to share, advice, etc… I’d love to hear it. I’m horrifically prone to Neophobia, which leads to apathy, which leads to… failure…
I’m good at writing, but as of right now I’m just a skilled editor/teacher masquerading as a writer. I’m better at helping others write and reviewing others’ work, and one of these days I’d like to figure out how to help myself.