Stream of Consciousness

Write What You Want

…. yeaaaaaaah…


Okay, I know, I know.

That’s my problem.

I’ve been writing for others for so long that I forgot how to spin a story from my own mind.

And now that I actually want to write for me

I don’t know what story I want to tell.

I could literally write anything. About a pear that hitched a ride with an outer space alien and robbed a liquor store. Only, turns out that outer space alien had been living in pear’s backyard as a stalker for seven years, isn’t an alien, and definitely kidnapped a real alien in order to steal it’s intelligence and technology. And who knows what the fake alien wants with pear.

But do I care?


Let me tell you, no, I do not care.


And I don’t know what I want to write.

I don’t know what stories I care about now.


Interesting thing is

this doesn’t bother me.

It’s a stepping off point.

A cliff that isn’t actually a cliff.

It’s a new beginning.

A blank page.

I get to do whatever I want with it.



Stream of Consciousness

The Reason My Soul Stopped

I believe there comes a time to look objectively at my life and decide if there are any beliefs, behaviors, projects, relationships, dreams, and/or time spent in any other ways that are doing more harm than good, or simply need to be allowed to die a natural death.



I have spent 6 years on a story. One which has changed altogether 3 times. One which has brought me much joy and realization, illumination in my own life.

But this story is more closely tied to my uncertainty and shifting life purposes than I was aware. Blair does not know what her story is or how to arrange in her heart all the pieces of her puzzle.

This is because, I do not know these precise things.

I cannot yet tell you Blair’s story. To all those who have read one of her stories, I am ever grateful for your help in revealing a part of my soul to me. But I must admit, you have not met Blair in her fullness.

It is time Blair and I move on together, to further discover our own lives.

It’s time I begin anew.

I will always love Blair. I will tell her story at some future date.

But to do so today would be a sham, a disgrace, a lie.

And there is a difference between perseverance and sheer stubborn denial.


So, I must confess, I was wrong. I haven’t lost the urge to write. I’ve lost the desire to try to force something that isn’t ready.

But this is great freaking news!

I am moving on.



I find I am excited by this new, empty page.

There is a dragon unlike I’ve ever met meandering around in the back of my mind; napping, checking in on zombies, solving mysteries to keep herself from going mad, and eating a lot of peaches.

I’m interested in her, in this strange new feel she brings.


In conclusion, I’m eternally grateful that I have not been published.

I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know myself at all. Consequently, my stories were places where I could escape the nastiness of my life. I cram packed it when violence, anger, death, and not much else.

I can no longer be the writer I was before.

I’ve imbued myself with lessons learned and truths identified. I’m glad for these stories, critiques, experiences, and rejections. They give me traction to climb my life’s mountains and the cushion and helmet I will need when I trip, stumble, and almost fall off.

Because let’s be honest, soul eater or dragon, I’m a wobbly individual.