Secret Blog 29

I cleaned my room this weekend.  Or I rearranged it.  I moved everything around.  There’s a big Queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and I pushed it against the wall.  This freed up quite a bit of space to put my desk and a few other things.  This is a big room.

I moved back to Texas and back into this house about 10 months ago.  Every time I move anywhere I think it’s going to be for a few weeks but of course it ends up being a lot longer.  I don’t know how long I’ll be here.  I’m living with my dad and stepmother.  They are being incredibly kind and generous to let me stay here while all I do is write.  I know that everything I’ve written in the last year wouldn’t have happened if they didn’t let me stay here. 

My issue when I moved in was that I had an insatiable desire to write and not have to think about anything else.  Last December I was able to pay off all of my debt and when I left Nashville (where I’d been for 6 and a half years) the only bills I had was rent and a phone bill.  So when I moved back I canceled my phone and have had no bills.  They have let me stay here.  I am beyond grateful for this and I wish I could pay them back.  I have tried to be clean and helpful and I think they like me okay for now.

It’s weird to feel completely satisfied with being able to write but then to feel guilty and irrisponsible because I don’t have any money.  I even had to borrow some money tonight to buy a newspaper.  But if there’s anything I’ve gotten quite good at over the years it’s not having any money.  I can figure out how to survive on very little (and good thing for me because that’s all I have most of the time!).

I do think that someday all of this writing will pay off (please! at least a little bit!) and I’ll be able to buy hamburgers for my dad or something (anything).  I did mow and help clean out the gutter yesterday, so that’s good.  And I try to remember to turn lights out when I leave the room.

—–

I have a corkboard here with the names of a bunch of story ideas I had a couple of years ago.  I have about 7 ideas for stories.  I don’t know if they’re movies or what.  I’d like to get to them.  Sometimes I sit with them to try to develop them a little but I never get very far.  My stories are always very detailed and elaborate in my imagination.  I’ll have ideas of what the tone will be and how the humor will play out.  I never know if I’ll be able to actually translate them from my imagination.  Something always gets lost.  I’ll try to tell somebody what a story is about and as soon as I open my mouth it just drizzles and I can’t remember what was so exciting about it. 

That’s a strange situation.  Why do things seem so much more colorful and alive in your mind and then come out dull and boring?   That always happens to me.  And I don’t know how to get past that.  I don’t know how to communicate my ideas with the accuracy they deserve and I’ll feel sad about it.  Weird.

I was thinking today about the computer I want to get.  I realized that it is the ultimate computer I could ever have.  I mean, if I get this computer I could never blame my not being able to make a certain thing on having a bad or low-level computer.  This thing would absolutely be able to accomplish anything I’ve been putting off “until I get a better computer”.  I wouldn’t have that obstacle in front of me anymore.  I mean, I wouldn’t be limited creatively by what my computer couldn’t do. 

That’ pretty cool.  I keep hoping that it’ll get easier and easier to make my ideas happen.

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