Sitting in front of a blank page, whether it be paper or electronic, is never an easy thing. Wide open potential staring me in the face, anything can happen, the possibilities are endless. But where to start, what will I be able to communicate on that page? Do I have anything worthwhile to say?
I sit, fingers on the keyboard of my trusty Macbook, not necessarily thinking but waiting for a thought. It is easier at night, when the house is dark and quiet, just the glow of my screen and me. At the moment I have three costume-adorned children playing a very loud game of hide and seek in here, a pile of dirty laundry eyeballing me and just after running the dishwasher, I see a tea cup peaking out from behind a stack of books, just basically giving me the finger. The things that could keep me from writing are never ending.
Sometimes inspiration hits me as I go through my day and I run home to my Mac after work and pour out my story like it had already been written. Other stories have been rolling around in my head for years and I can't seem to put them into words because they are so monumental to me and my life.
I had a psychic in Salem, Massachusetts tell me once that I would only attain my dream of being a writer if I worked hard at it, it would be the thing that didn't come easy for me. I am used to achieving what I go after, always winning or at least making a good showing. School was easy, work comes easy to me, I am blessed to have been given a good mind and a good body to house it in. The stringing of words together is not difficult, my vocabulary and grammatical skills are there from years of schooling and reading. I can form a beginning, build up, climax and conclusion. There are a lot of things in my life from which to draw interesting anecdotes and lessons, some are even down right hilarious.
So what's the problem? What's the hard part?
Believing in myself.
Taking the step to be open and honest with all of you.
I focused on fiction for years because I was not yet ready to bare my soul. I have notebooks full of hand written short stories and novels. All unfinished, because I was still lacking that one thing. Heart. Or balls, if you prefer. Courage. Big ovaries. Whatever it is that gets you to the point of being able to say, 'Fuck it, I am going to be myself 100% from head to toe all the time. I am sick of pretending and trying to fit in.'
'Big Ovaries, Baby!' Sapphire The Uppity Blues Women
Turns out what I have to say can't be said with fiction. It is too real, too gritty and too important to hide it in metaphors and analogies. Therefore, I am going to be real. Raw. Open. I will cry and laugh with my readers. I will let everyone see me bleed so that maybe a few of them will avoid that particular trap in life and not get hurt. In between the big, emotional stories I will still need to tell some frivolous ones, just to allow myself time to heal.
Right now it is easy to talk about my physical self, my illness and how I deal with it, because I have become open about it with everyone in my life. There are other things though, parts of my life that are still hidden from most.
That is the next step.
I hope you like ghost stories and the paranormal, because my life is often more 'para' than 'normal'.