I tell you, sitting down to start writing with no end objective in mind is harder than it seemed it would be.
What I’m supposed to do is free-write, then go back and underline the Transformation lines, pick out a juicy one and massage it until I move deeper into a memory or feeling that I can write about. Then, I have to take that story and create an image/moment or two. I’ll come back to that concept in a bit.
OK. Here I go…
I’m looking forward to going back home to Chattanooga on March 28th.
I’ve really enjoyed living in West Hollywood, but it’s not home. The main reason I came to California was to try and network – meet some people who can get my screenplay into the right hands to sell it and get it produced when I finally finish it.
I’ve spent over a year working out the concept for my screenplay. I’ve researched. Outlined. Worked on my characters and my plot until I’m blue in the face. All I have to do is sit down and write the damn thing.
What keeps me from writing? Fear of failure? No. I’m not sure exactly.
I think it may have something to do with my inability to complete projects I start. I’m a great starter. I’m organized, and when I get it in my mind to do something, I am tenacious. I hold on to the idea like a dog with a bone.
I get hell-bent on what ever project I’m currently working on and it will be the focus of my daydreaming and money expenditure. I’ll buy tons of books to investigate my newest craze. If there are classes I can take, I’ll take them.
When I got into Wicca, I immersed myself in reading. I painted a 9 foot wide black circle on my concrete car port, and painted a white pentagram inside it. I put an iron cauldron in the middle of the circle, and covered it with a round piece of glass – which also had a pentagram in it. I cast spells and focused positive energy for different things. I got some very interesting results from that.
The same rabid tenacity I had for Wicca, and still have for anything that smacks of the metaphysical, holds for all of the other things I threw myself into: Socialism, Buddhism, Playing Role-Playing games, you name it. I’ll grab hold of something and ride it like hell – then, I’ll lose interest and drop it.
Writing is a different story. I’ve always liked to write. My fanaticism here is changing styles of writing. I started with short stories, then moved on to novel writing, and finally to screenwriting. My screenwriting addiction has endured the longest and still burns a hole in me. I love it! I read scripts like they are going out of style, and I buy lots of movies. Not to mention I have a Netflix account.
So, where am I going with this?
Let’s try the Slauson Cut-Off – “I am tenacious.”
I am tenacious. I hold on to things way past the point of when I should let go. I’m holding on to my husband the same way. Things have gone horribly wrong in the last few years of my marriage.
We’re sleeping in separate rooms, and have been doing so for the lasts 41/2 years. Ever since my children were born. I used the excuse that I wanted to sleep in their room to make sure I was there if they needed something. It might have started out that way, but I never moved back into the bed with Carl.
Now, I have my own room and use other excuses not to sleep with him. Like he snores, although he always has. Or because he keeps the head of the bed elevated to keep his gastric reflux from burning his throat. But in fact, I don’t want to sleep in the room with him or have sex with him. Haven’t had sex with him for over 5 years!
What turned me away?
Lets see.
About 7 years ago I discovered that he was writing emails to two different women he works with, asking them to meet him for lunch and telling them how ‘hot’ they were.
Then, a year later, I found out that he was ‘jerking off’ online for God only knows who. I think that was one of the final straws. I started thinking of him as a kind of pervert. A dirty old man, even though he’s 12 years younger than me.
He drinks and he has major anger issues. He’s never hit me, but he yells all of the time. And, when he gets really mad – usually after he’s had several beers, spit will fly out of his mouth when he yells. Sometimes I just stare at his mouth when he’s yelling, watching that spit fly, and wondering what in the hell I’m still doing with him.
I try to think of him like he was 10 years ago. He still had an angry streak, but not nearly as often.
I remember when I came out of my hysterectomy surgery. I had trouble keeping awake, but I remember him holding my hand, tearfully telling me how much he loved me.
I remember how funny he is. He has the best sense of humor of anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s made me laugh thousands of times. But now that humor seems different to me. He makes fun of people and I get irritated and end up pissing him off when I don’t laugh.
Everything I do irritates him these days, and then I get pissed off because he’s being an asshole and we go round and round with the same old responses.
Why do I hang on?
Partly because I can’t afford not to. Not with two pre-schoolers. I need money and help babysitting. We alternate with the kids so we can each work when I’m home in Tennessee.
He drives me crazy with his anger, and alcoholism, and his extremely negative and dark view of life. That’s one of the main reasons I took the travel nurse job to West Hollywood. To get away from him.
If I had the finances, I’d make him move or take the kids and move into a different home with them.
I’m stuck.
(To be continued and explored tomorrow)…
Chava – unedited
