I can never walk out of Barnes and Noble empty-handed or even just with one book. Went today because I had a coupon for 20% one item. Walked out with two books and had to drag myself out before I talked myself into another. #addict much? *sigh*
Summer is here. I am less busy with clinicals more busy with studying for the next set of boards (standardized tests suck). In order to stay at least somewhat sane I’ve upped my reading game (and movie watching). It has inspired me to write. I feel words on my tongue. I feel a story in my heart. I just have no idea what to write about.
Confession: Reading and watching movies= escapism for me. It’s the one time in my life where I am not here in the boring realm of reality. I am not miserable studying (standardized tests suck). I am not my crazy, neurotic, calculating, self-critical, type-A self. I am just in the moment.
Lately, even the movies and the books (minus the In-Death Series) haven’t been hitting the escapism spot. I am constantly changing the show’s or the book’s story. I come up with different scenarios, write different characters in, b**** about how they shouldn’t have done that. Cry when a character of mine is mistreated (apparently I’m a little over-sensitive, it’s the empath ok?!). The point: no-one is channeling my emotions the way I want them. Solution: I should write my own d*** stuff lol. If only I could put my thoughts and feelings into words.
To my writers: What’s your process? How do you bring your story to life?
My readers/watchers: Ever felt like the author just didn’t get the story write? Are you super-emo, empathic to your story-line?
So I just finished reading Call of the Goddess by Elizabeth N. Love and saw the Daily Post’s daily prompt: Envy. Here’s what came from my post book coma and the prompt:
The green slime invaded my veins, seeped through my tissues, turned my eyes green. It renewed me, made me someone else. Someone better. I felt powerful. Beautiful. Strong. Intelligent. I could find the cure to any disease on this planet. I could solve America’s political turmoil. I could end world hunger and global warming. Any problem that destroyed the Earth, I knew the solution. Did I end it? fix it? No. I smiled at its destruction. My life was better. No one else deserved what I had. No one deserved better. She didn’t deserve that relationship. He deserved to love me. She couldn’t handle her figure or the silky long waves of hair that swayed down her back. He’s an idiot: why should he run a company at all, let alone bring in billions a year? Hatred ran through my veins. Anger seeped in my tissues. Depression seeped in my body’s crevices. I needed more. Others needed less. What the hell was my brain doing? Why were such evil thoughts invading my mind? Something tugged at me, unleashed the poisonous green venom throughout my body, and I was afraid it would seep into others if they got too close. But then he touched my hand, a cooling blue invaded my blood. I felt like myself again. I felt love. The beast inside me weeped. She blasted her venom, and the slime penetrated and took over. Power and hatred seeped through again. It was like drug, pleasing and toxic. I was the masochist who drank to feel the orgasmic pleasure as it created a deep void within me. Everything was turning green. Everything should be mine. I fell to the ground and cried. Despair filled me. Destroy it all ,the creature screamed. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy. It was all I heard. Then he came again. He embraced me. He whispered in my ear. The cooling blue and a warm red mixed this time. It drove the poisonous venom out. I felt myself again but better. Whole. Happy. He renewed me. No more envy. No more parasite.