Learning to Listen

So this started my mental breakdown today.

At about 4am I woke up, which is not at all unusual for me since I tend to wake at that time each morning, I looked over at the snake's cage and wondered if he had escaped yet.

Now he's securely stuck in there so my worries were pretty unfounded and that's not really the point of this post. The point, dear reader, is that I don't listen to my head. When I invested in a snake I knew in my head that I would be terrified of the snake. I hate creepy crawly things. But if there's one thing I've learned in my short life it's that I'm the kind of person who never lives if she doesn't face her fears. So I got the snake despite all logical reasoning.

But at 4am, me convincing myself that I can face a snake each day slightly gave way to the real, legit, no-shit me. And at that butt-crack of dawn, all I heard in my head was, "Why the hell did you even get a snake? You are terrified of them. You are an idiot."

And that's when it happened. I realized that I knew all along this was a bad idea but I didn't listen. Because I am a Taylor and that means I'm way too stubborn for my own good. So I got that snake. I got him and I'll hold him until I get over my fear and become an effin snake whisperer.

But I also ignore that logical voice when it comes to other things. So bright and early this morning, my head said to me with much bravado, "You know, Bekah, you don't listen when it comes to a lot of things. You remember about two years ago midway through college when I said you didn't want to be a teacher? And then you just kept going on with that idea that you did? And then you started teaching and realized you hated it more? And then you graduated and realized you hated it more than was logically possible? And then you left Anderson and needed to start your job search? And then you ignored that job search for a couple months? And now you're sitting in a home that isn't even yours, working a silly job that is not even close to a career, with a 100,000$ degree sitting under your farm clothes still in its envelope, and nothing to prove for it but the idea that one day something will fall into your lap and opportunity will knock on your door. Well, this is what happens when you don't listen."

But that voice didn't stop there. I proceeded with my day, feeding animals and doing chores until the fury I felt toward myself, the unbridled disgust and shame, just exploded in the form of putting down my foot and saying to myself, "Get up off your ass!"

So to speak, of course. I'm an excuse-maker. I'm a victim-player. I'm a slacker. And now I'm fed up.

So I'm setting a goal for myself. By the end of February I will advance. I say that in such general terms because what if it really is the economy that's partly to blame for my career-less-ness. Well, my the end of this nasty, love-filled month of pointless winter, I will do something with my life. I will find some sort of goal.

Today, I'm listening to that voice. I'm doing what it tells me because no-nonsense me is far more logical that the other me. I'll find something more and reclaim my fervor for life and all that it offers.

Today is the start of tomorrow and a better future.

Writing Blurbs

"I look at you and I think 'that's exactly who I was as a child'. What do you expect someone to say at that point? Do you want me to panic like a parent and lock you in a room hoping you never face negative influence? Do you want me to be your best friend and encourage you to explore the world? I think the hardest thing I could do is warn you, hope you'll listen, and be there when you screw it all up. That's all I can do. If you're like me then I know you'll figure it out eventually."

"To come this close to the one thing that terrified him, the one object in the universe that stopped him where he stood and shut down all rational thought, he wondered at what he had become. People would never think a legendary leader would have a fear like this. Besides, who in their right mind actually looked out at an ocean and saw it as their grave?"

"While the insults and screams of his father echoed around him, he picked out one of those places and told himself that he would escape this town and find his way there.
The most ironic part of it was he had no idea how soon he would actually fulfill that promise.
Because that was the night the barn caught fire."

Wishful Thinking

Maybe tomorrow will be the day...

Maybe I'll buy that Civic...

Maybe I'll repay that loan...

Maybe I'll find a career...

Maybe I'll clean my room and bathroom...





Maybe I'll just take a nap.

Winter is my Foil

I don't think there's anytime in the year besides winter that I hate so much.

Actually, I can say with full confidence that winter is most definitely the time I hate the most.

I get nothing done.

I pull up my books but barely write. During the day, I wallow and wait and wait and wait for summer.

On a more positive note, my dog does seem to like winter and its snow.



Now if only we weren't going from thunderstorms and too warm for even a sweatshirt to hurricane winds and snow all within 12 hours...

Writing Blurb - Facing the Writer's/Character's Fears

I returned to writing today.

Well, technically, I did. I just didn't write chronologically (where I left my book at). I instead wanted to find out what fueled my main character to become who he was today.

What I discovered was that his personal flaws, fears, and insecurities are all rooted in a very sad childhood. One particular moment (the one I wrote) was the straw in the camels back, so to say. This moment broke my character's spirit. It was so emotionally disturbing that he was changed from then on, in some ways not for the better.

Midway through I realized that my main character, a creation of my mind that will be seen by what I hope to be millions of people one day, suffered the same type of life-changing trauma as I did as a child.

And that's when it became hard to finish the scene. Yes, it was hard putting my character through that scene because he is a part of me and his life, at least for me and my readers, is real in a way (only writers and good readers can understand that statement. It applies to many great novels, not just my own).

It was more difficult reliving the choices and emotions I once felt as a young girl. It was hard reading it on the page and understanding that this was not just a changing moment in my character's life but in my own life. Through words on paper, I was taken from a story and into my own memories and to a place where I could finally understand what I had gone through and accept it.

And that, my dear readers, is why I write.

My Pup

Content

Josh Groban singing sweet lullabies...

A snoring dog curled up with me...

Cozy blankets wrapped up tight...

And a good book...

I think I could get used to this.