First off, I want to tell my best friend that I am thinking of her, and hope her surgery went super duper easy, and I wish I was there to fluff her pillows or roll her over so she can fart or something. I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, Neseyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Now on to the serious business of reflecting…
Last night I learned what it meant to really develop calluses. I also learned how scared one has to be in order to make a Blair Witch Project video. Thankfully, I fought that urge and just kept on strumming, strumming, strumming.
So in one night, I got a better handle on Killing Me Softly (appropriate for my fear) and Call It Off by Tegan and Sara. I also learned Push and Pull by Nikka Costa which some of you may recognize from the movie, Traffic. Fabulous song. Very excited to be learning it. I worked on my strumming for Horse With No Name. And me and Everybody Hurts got a little more acquainted. So I went from struggling just to get Everybody Hurts down to working on four songs at once. And they ACTUALLY sound like songs now. Not just me slapping away at a few chords, making a bunch of racket. Must be why my fingers feel like they do this morning.
And of course, I woke up singing in the silence. It began with Push and Pull and moved to a T &S song, of course, which I have now forgotten. It’s not one I’m working on, though.
Last night was scary, folks. GO on over and take a look at the video I made about it. I tried to joke about it, but I was a bit petrified. My own little mini forest. The wind sounded like it was going to carry my little cove over the cliff. There were men outside talking, but I couldn’t see them (mind you, the place I’m staying in is tucked in the side of a cliff, underneath a church. Not much reason for random traffic and the one closest neighbor is a woman. Though maybe she sounds like a man, I don’t know.) I thought the power of the cross would keep me safe down here, but I wasn’t quite sure of that last night.
So I just kept playing and playing until I was too exhausted to care whether the men (or women smokers) made it in and did heinous things to me in my sleep. I figured my purse was near the door. They could take my Euros and leave me be.
This morning, I have to finish an essay for class, I want to work on an application for a scholarship/prize and of course, my eight hours of writing which went fabulously well yesterday.
My only gripe about this whole revision thing is I keep coming up with major changes, which requires more writing. And I’m rebelling. I don’t wanna write more, I whine. I just want to revise and be done. But things that made sense in the foggy, pen-to-paper world of November speed writing don’t make a lot of sense right now. Therefore, my plot is changing, my characters are evolving, and it’s making me work. HARD. I guess this is what real writer’s do, huh? Well, you all suck, real writers! But maybe this is what the song in my head was about yesterday. I’ve been lying to myself about this business of being a writer, about the work and the commitment that it takes to stake claim to the title. About whether or not I have the heart…
Or maybe I lied about something else, who knows.
Okay, it’s too early to be delirious so I must just be sleepy. I am going to finish my breakfast of mountain-bound champions and get these fingers to skipping across the keys.
Hasta manana, good people.