It's hot again, and I reminisce through old writings... most of them half finished. "Dirty Seashells," a short story of love gone wrong. "Fruit and All Things Nice," a short story about breaking free, and the naive female. Poems. Scribbled notes of other story ideas. Where to begin? All of this sifting and sifting, snatching up little nuggets of gold here and there... but a part of me knows I will stop half way through, when the going gets good -- paralyzed by self-doubts. Every story I write picks up pace, becomes better and better, and as soon as I catch a glimps of its shine I become terrified that I will fuck it all up. The anxiety is great enough to stop the flow of words, every single time. Somehow, I need to overcome this. I need to get out of my own way.
Elizabeth George is encouraging in her book on writing. Each chapter she begins with a quote from her personal diary. These quotes reflect her own struggle with self-doubts in the writing process. Yet she pushes forward, every time. She keeps going.
Florida Atlantic University... this is where I'm setting my sights for graduate school. I want to study poetry with Susan Mitchell. Every time I visit the MFA website for FAU, a wave of intense longing flushes through me. I'm not ready yet, though. Almost, but not quite. I'm not ready to leave this town. I need to stay just a little longer.
The process of looking for a new home has begun. I found one in Cabbabe Town that was adorable, but slightly too small. One closet?? I'm a woman, come on. There were a few places in Grant Park I went to look at yesterday. To put it bluntly, they were all shit-holes. Dark and damp inside. Ratty carpet. Peeling paint. Holes in the screens. The kind of places you can imagine will never really feel clean, no matter how hard you might scrub. And then there are a few places in Little Five... what catches my breath on that one? Oh, that. That's what catches my breath on that one. Cabbage Town might be my best bet.
(The moon in Jamaica)
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