It doesn’t feel right. It’s not in the air. I’m not ready. I can’t do it. Not yet. Not yet. But when? My mind scrambles, nothing aligns, all’s a-jumble. It won’t happen tonight.
I put my head down. It has to happen. I’m not ready. Not yet. I think in shame: maybe not ever.
For a long minute, Annie knelt, scared the old woman would find her. But, Mrs. Schlocken eventually turned back around, again raising her arms to the black sky above her.
You just have to do it. Oh God, I’m so sick of that expression. Especially from people like me who say it and don’t do it.
It’s not coming to me. The words. You know how that goes. I can’t do it.
Annie’s mind raced. “I knew right away something wasn’t right with her, but I still don’t know what. Oh!” Annie remembered. “She’s a witch!”
Who do I think I am? I can’t write. A book? HA! You won’t amount to anything. This pursuit is silly, a dead-end. I’m not one of those people who finishes things. I’m a goof-off. Ridiculous.
“So…” What do you say when you found out the world could end? “Um….”
“We all could die.” Coriander said it for her.
It’s a pointless dream. Folly. So much talent out there. So many books. Who do I think I am?
But the story. It’s in me. Burning. Not waiting anymore. I don’t think it ever did wait really.
Coriander led Annie to the garbage cans lined up in the backyard. “Let’s see what we can find.” She took a deep breath, lifted the lid, and began to dig through the trash.
It does burn. I’ll give the story that. It’s a bright spot in my heart, not my head. My head says not to do it. And I can’t turn that off.
Eventually they stopped in front of a small yellow house with white trim. The paint was peeling in several places and the grass in the yard was just about dead. “This is it?” Annie moved toward the rickety front gate that leaned too far to the right.
The dream is edged out by rationale and reason and logic. Words I used to not understand.
I leave my dreams on notes scribbled next to the bed, bodiless voices on a recorder, on still air in the car, in endless glasses of wine.
I put my head down. I will make this permanent.
“Let’s not lose hope, not lose hope. There is still time.” He grabbed Annie’s hands. “We can find your mom, we can restore order, we can.” He dropped her hands. “We will, we will.”
wow. Love it.
Do not lose hope. There is still time.
But, you CAN do it. It’s in there, just waiting. For you. (Highly recommend The Artist’s Way for jump-starting & dealing with all the denial & fear.)
You have to write it out. Think of it as unclogging pipes–eventually it will FLOW out easily and clean.