Once Upon a Time...

The end.

Finding inspiration in Los Angeles is hard. At least, I find it to be the hardest thing. Maybe it's because I don't have as much free time on my hands. In Boston, I took the T every day (subway, what have you). I had about 45 minutes of commute time to do whatever I wanted.

When I was an RA and lived on campus, I had time meeting with people one on one. Asking them about their experiences in college. Getting into the messy little drama of their lives, sometimes, they wouldn't even want to talk to me about anything - but it came pouring out in an overflow of emotions. When you bottle something up, sometimes it comes out to a person you'd never expect. Sometimes you just do it to get sympathy, sometimes you do it for the attention, and sometimes you do it because you really need the help. Whatever it be, it happens.

These experiences, these moments in my life, gave me time to think, to observe, and to imagine. A similar experience happened last night. I allowed my childhood to come to the surface. Instead of opening the lock to my boyfriend's gate, I pretended the combination was some secret, hidden message that I had spent hours decoding. I walked along the sidewalk with hesitation - what if I were to get caught in this top secret place. High security all around.

And then something happened, after I felt pretty silly about the story that was going through my head, I looked up at this tree. It was a windy night, crisp air running through Los Angeles, which is saying something because the city usually has this musty smell to it. The tree was shaking violently in the strong gusts of wind. I watched it, and the light trying to pour through the cracks in the leaves from the overhead street lamp. The patterns it was making, the way the branches gnarled over each other, the way the bark seemed to curl around itself all the way up the tree.

I realized what I had been missing. This childish instinct to explore. To see things, to know things, to wonder and wander. I've stayed so caught up in my life that I forgot to see.

Today, on the way to work, I saw this older woman waiting for her bus. She looked to stoic. I was jealous, almost furious with her that she could wait so calmly while I waded my way through traffic. But then I felt blessed. To have seen that look on that face, to almost know her. She looked sad almost...

Almost like that girl in the waiting room, when she came out to get her boyfriend/husband. The look on her face was solemn. More worried like he wasn't going to stay for her. She glanced up and met his eyes and he stood straight up, walked over to her, and silently grabbed her hand.

Everyone is living so many different lives. Everyone has so many stories to tell. And I've been missing out on all of these opportunities because my blinders have been on.

Creating a Blog

I've had this for quite some time, but I've never actually utilized it before.  I will probably have daily or weekly updates about what is happening with my goals.  Maybe information on my characters and how much they are upsetting me.  Having a bunch of strangers running around inside your head would make some people call you crazy - other's "creative."  Is it simply because I know the difference from myself and the "voices" in my head?  I know they aren't real.

But sometimes, I talk about them like they are very real characters.  "He's really angry because so and so pushed him into a corner and..."  And ...  And he's not real, get over it - right?  Wrong, I can't.  Like most unpublished or unfinished authors, we are plagued with that one voice.  That voice inside our head that isn't ours.  It simple states, "Write my story - the world has a right to know my story."  And you think -- I don't have anything important to say!  But, your character does, and that's all that matters, right?

Something like that.  So this is going to be my struggle, to keep my characters out of my real life, no matter how much I am jealous of them or live vicariously through them, they are characters.  Not my friends, not my reality, but they are a part of my creativity, my imagination.  And honestly, it's about time that they finally come out on paper and stay where they belong - in one book, one small journey, and hopefully one that will have a bigger impact than just making my mother proud.