If I were an idiot I would title this post something like Dodging the Draft, but then I'd have to hang myself for writing like a college level journalist
It’s been so long since I signed into Blogger that the entire format has changed. I feel like someone’s Grandfather trying to Skype on a child’s electronic McDonald’s toy. Crying alone in the living room because the beeping light-up Transformers tie-in won’t let him see his family.
They say writer’s block is an emotional state of mind. That it isn't really an inability to produce, but a glacial wall of frozen fears that have nothing to do with the actual construction of words and ideas.
It took me a long time to realize Writing and Online Socializing were two things I did to escape that terrible darkness of youth. That I needed to spend some time trying to find out how to write while I was happy.
And, Oh God. Am I happy.
I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. I am completely in love, and adored. I spend most of my days smiling and laughing with eyes filled with glittery sparks of honey and stars.
Meagen and I have stopped calling each other boyfriend, or girlfriend. It never really seemed to suit us correctly. Instead, we now refer to each other as Soon-To-Be’s, because we’re engaged now, and getting married.
matt: Have you read any Hemingway?
matt: (laughing) You’re the best writer I know.
And I’ve been writing again. (and online socializing)
I’m a chapter into the second draft. Meagen was the one who kept reminding me that I was a writer and that, perhaps, I really should sit down and start writing again. She’s the one who reads it every few pages and gives me the sort of advice I would spend weeks trying to figure out on my own.
It’s been three years since I started the novel. And over a year since I finished it.
The second draft needs to be done. And I’m doing it.
And I’m happy.