Category Archives: just write

Where do the Stories Hide?

At any given time, I have hundreds of stories in my head flitting around. But then once it is time to grab one out and spill it on paper, I can’t find a single one. They all dart back into dark, unreachable caves and I’m left with shattered sentences and “let me think about it”s.

Where do they go? They can’t have gone too far.

What can I do to bring them out? Sometimes it’s as simple as an “a ha!” moment or a quick chain of thoughts. Other times, it’s torture. I’ve got point A, but where’s point B?

Even when I write the stories that I have lived . . . they hide from me.

Sometimes I will think of a very specific thing and I want to memorialize it in writing. I start with the bigger story, give it some background, but then . . . it’s gone. Where did it go? Will it come back?

Sometimes it’s frustrating. I just want to get it all down when I want it to get it down, and I can’t. And then when I am not capable of entering it into permanency, the ideas they are a flowin’.

But I’m really not complaining. At least there’s something up there . . . I think.

* * *

Just trying to write.

“Old”

I didn’t think I would have a hard time turning thirty. I really didn’t.

But then the new year came and that changed.

I don’t know quite what it is. It’s not so much feeling “old”–it’s rather a sense of not being “young.”

Like: I shouldn’t be going out so much! I’m almost 30!

Like: I shouldn’t be listening to this music! I’m almost 30!

Like: I shouldn’t be doing multiple outfit changes at this after hours at my house! I’m almost 30!

It’s not: I’m almost 30. I need a baby.

It’s not: I’m almost 30. I should change my investment strategy.

It’s not: I’m almost 30. I should start using a facial strategy.

How I can best sum it up is this: I feel less invincible. Not that I ever felt exceptionally invincible–I’m a bit of a wimp and I understand and fear consequences.

But a little part of me must have believed I could go back and change/relive things. That those nights of driving country roads in my underwear and walking around the villas looking for parties could just as easily happen this weekend. They can’t.

There’s a reason people are considered creepy when they stick around in a college town past their time (and still hang out with just college kids).

I swear I’m not creepy.

I’m just getting “old.” (But I’m still fighting it.)

***

just write

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Wet Pavement.

Tonight as I walked into my parking garage on my way home from work, I was greeted by a familiar smell and feeling. Something about the combination of wet pavement and reflections of street lights that brings me back to those nights in college where I’d be walking from somewhere. Alone. At an inappropriate hours.

I remember walking home from a friend’s dorm room at 5am on multiple occasions. At the time I thought he could be more than a friend and so I tried to force it and became accustomed to late night movies and sleepovers where nothing happened.

I remember walking home from another friend’s dorm room after thinking maybe there could be something there and watching a meteor shower from atop the roof. There was nothing there, but I thought about it for at least a minute.

I remember walking just to walk, at times when I shouldn’t be.

So now, every time I smell that smell that reminds me of those lonely walks, all these thoughts come flooding back and all I can really say about that is “It’s almost spring.”

* * *

This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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Dark Dreams/Dark Thoughts.

I had a dream about the end of the world last night. It was not a dark dream despite the topic, because the end did not happen. It was supposed to, according to an ancient calendar, but it didn’t. All the damage and changes done to the earth by humans had changed the rotation of the earth ever so slightly, but just enough that it caused a meteor that would have ended everything had the earth been in the state it was at the time that calendar was made to just land with a large thud. Everything shook and I’d imagine entire populations were wiped out in a localized area, but the world was still there and I woke up.

When I was eleven (or maybe ten) at girl scout camp, an older girl read my palm. She informed me I would die at age twelve. As I approached age twelve, I slept less and less. Once I hit twelve, sleep was hard to come by. I would think of her prediction–it must be true!–as I laid there in bed and my mind would race. It would go from one thing to another to another. And I knew I was going to die. It would become hard to breath and I would want to cry but I couldn’t–it was all too much. Most nights I would crawl down stairs to sleep on my parents’ floor . . . I couldn’t die if I slept there, could I?! I remember one particular night that I went downstairs and I caught my mom watching some old western on the tv. I do not to this day know what it was, but I remember a young blonde boy or girl who knew he or she was dying talking to an older man about it. And it wrecked me. And I finally told my mom. And she told me that girl was full of bullshit.

And I learned to interpret the break in my heart line as something else. After all, it was just a break in an otherwise long line.

But still to this day, there are moments when I think of my mortality and just gasp. The train leaves the station and I find myself thinking of “what happens next?” and “where does the universe end?” and “WHY?” until I find myself having to sometimes literally slap myself in the face and say “NO! STOP THINKING!” until I actually do stop.

I suppose this is all normal; something we all think about but do not discuss unless in philosophy class or in church or with our scientist friends. But still . . . it gets me every time.

These thoughts . . . they really aren’t that dark. But they are there, hiding in the dark of my mind and sometimes I can be scared of the dark.

* * *

This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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Ellipsis.

You took a period and turned into an ellipsis.

I didn’t even have to answer for that change to go into effect.

You put into motion an eruption of emotion I didn’t know I was there. But it had to be expressed.

An ellipsis is fine. An ellipsis was the status quo for so long. But I had come to accept the period; an occasional question mark. The exclamations had passed.

But an ellipsis . . . that’s something I don’t know what to do with.

* * *

This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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