Moved in with the Boyfriend and Getting Fat, so I’m going to WRITE again.

Found this cat online. This is how I’ve been feeling the past week.

Meh.

I am growing up Blog Land. And more than that, I am getting to that point in my age when coming home early to catch a movie on: Netflix/Hulu Plus/my VHS collection – has gotten pretty exciting. I have already skipped out on a couple of bar chat events. I walk up to them, see the people holding their drinks, holding their face muscles up to smile, holding their breath to suck in their guts and I think to myself…not tonight! Not for me. Nope. I want to be home in my pj’s doing a video edit while listening to my boo talk about places we should travel when/if we ever get the money to do it again.

Holy Snickers…will we? Sometimes I dive into a IS THIS THE END OF MY LIFE? imaginary theme song and somewhere in the deepest parts of my brain I am caught in a web of first world problems. I won’t even begin to get into that issue right now.

My biggest success this week (from the move) was wrinkling up old little scraps of paper of creative writing that I had spread all over my notebooks and placed them in a box I titled, “Writing.” Oh joy! All the things I’ve been working on in my mid-twenties while living in LA and the Bay Area live in this box now. My notebook autographed by Quentin Tarantino, my sketchbook I bought in Paris in 2008 with my pseudo-poems, my scraps of notes for character development on my novel, and pieces of a script I abandoned for fear of success back in 2010. Don’t ask, I’m a mess! Even writing this stuff down is like an admonition to my self-depricative nature. Don’t tell me what you think! I disgust myself, and that is punishment enough. All this beautiful juicy work – all unfinished. Rotting away in all these little books, notebooks, and plastic baggies I thought were cute once upon a time. But I’m growing up blog land. I have put all these things in the one box. I hope it inspires me to keep going with them.

A person who keeps pushing me forward is my boyfriend who is currently playing Angry Birds on the bed, so go figure! Life is a mystery. Also this place we moved into is super cute and creepy. We have a deck in the back, which makes me feel like taking breaks to write outdoors. Maybe I’ll do that, I’ll go out on that deck with a bottle of beer, and write. I don’t care what comes out, but it’s getting down on a piece of paper.

I hope you are all working your way through your writing and creative work. Artists are enigmas to me (and I include myself in that comment). I come up with these clever little ways to share my deepest thoughts through fictional characters in hopes that someday I’ll be published, and then the fear of being published or getting noticed freaks me out and I break out in hives thinking — maybe not today. Honestly, it’s time to get over this stupid fear. It’s stupid. Time to share the work, get rejection letters, and continue working. I mean, I love writing for myself — but I think it’s high time I start sharing the writing with others.

Challenge yourself today Blog Land, challenge yourself everyday! I plan on doing just that. Onward.

Writer’s Block

I’ve got a case of the writer’s block y’all. It’s really starting to freaking annoy me. I’ve started about five posts, stopped mid sentence, and said to myself, “This is SH*T!”     So today, Reader, I ran away from my temporary home (my mom’s house) and came to my favorite hole in the wall in Temple City: Boba Express. It’s a quaint boba/coffee shop next to an old fashioned barber shop on Las Tunas Drive. A fun escape from all that is…well, familiar. Also, a good forty five to fifty miles away from my mother’s place. I love my mom, but sometimes she…well, sometimes she wants grandchildren and since I am not able to provide her with such right now, she focuses on making me look pregnant by feeding me all types of delicious greasy Peruvian stuff. I ran away. Away I ran.

I’m here now, drinking a Coconut Milk Tea Boba and chilling in the shade. Every now and then a gentle breeze comes through the back door and caresses my face. It’s a nice feeling. A very nice feeling, especially because the San Fernando Valley feels like the surface of the sun today! Aren’t we supposed to be getting rain soon? Gah…

Anyways, back to the reason I am writing (my personal drama). I think I have writer’s block because I am genuinely concerned about my future with writing. I mean, what do you plan on doing with your life? Writing? What does that mean? What are you writing about? Blah blah! And then there’s my novel. Is it based on a character, or are you trying to write an anthem? It’s like I’m getting spooked out of my own creativity.

Mainly, the most haunting question looming in the corners of my brain is WILL I HAVE A CAREER IN WRITING? Will I? Sometimes I tell myself that as long as I keep writing, and as long as I work through the writers block — something good will come out of it.     I should just keep venting to this blog because at least in my head, I know there’s some crazy a$$ woman out there who is also obsessed with aliens and afraid of writing about what she loves.

But you know what Reader? I’ve been hard on myself. I think we writers can sometimes be too much. We want to take a big bite, and sometimes, we’re not ready for the big bite. I think right now I have to take smaller bites, chew comfortably until the right answers emerge in my mouth like fun little flavors in a chocolate bar. Flavors that will inevitably settle down to give me the right answers. My imagination runs away from me sometimes, and in my naivete I came here to day, to this boba place to escape. I thought, maybe if I run after it to Boba Express, me and my creativity might meet up. I’d be like, Hey Creativity, it’s been a while. Come have  seat with me! Then I would proceed to swallow my creativity in order to trap it inside of me always. She hasn’t shown up. No luck! However, I am enjoying this refreshing drink.

Sometimes, Reader, I forget to celebrate the small things in life. These small things are what make us who we ARE: weird a$$ people with awkward social skills to boot.

I mean, right now I have an audience of about one to four on a daily basis. Isn’t that enough? Why must I be such a selfish little Peruvian creeper? As long as I reach some, that should be enough, for now. The point is to connect with a reader, Reader. Am I right? Tell me if I’m wrong.

No you’re not wrong! (<–talking to myself again) Damn straight. We writers need to take pride in our small successes and work through the things that discourage us to continue our progress. Life sometimes can interrupt our flow: bills, rent, work, drama, rejections, relationships, alien abductions, etc. These things can chip away at our soul on a daily basis, but in the end — we have to do it. We have to write. I’ve had writer’s block for about five days now—and quite frankly, it’s gross. Like, I want to throw up at how much time my creativity has decided to be away from me. It’s probably because I bragged about working on the third chapter of my novel to someone a few days ago. I have instant karma like that—but whatever. I should celebrate the fact that at least I started five posts with five unfinished sentences the past five days. That’s how Hemingway did it anyways (or at least that was a rumor I heard). He would stop writing his pieces mid sentence, in order to have something to complete the next day.  That’s a good tactic. Now time to work through the block. Ugh, this is so painful.