I got nuthin'

Truly.  Absolutely nothing to say today, but I feel guilty because I didn't update yesterday either. 

The heat has broken here on the east coast and the last two days have been delightfully pleasant. So, I have taken advantage of that as only a person of my crazy level can do: I clean.  I kid you not.  Yesterday, I broke the pact with myself to not mop nor wax the kitchen floor until school started.  It was much cooler outside, thus cooler inside, so I mopped and waxed.  Because I am insane.  I'm really not a total neat freak, but I do get my crazy on with vacuuming.  I do it every day.  Without fail.  Just me and my Dyson going to town on the downstairs, sucking up the cat hair and the grass that has been dragged in by little wet pool feet, just to do it all over again the next day.  I cannot even relax, no matter how tired I may be until it is done. 

So, the writing thing.  I have not yet begun my original story, but I am still prepping.  My story I posted on the old blog, "A Hug From Heaven" is going into the church newsletter in September in memory of 9/11.  I have been writing my little fingers off with a few internet writing buddies.  I have been reading way more than I have since I started knitting.  It's amazing to me really.  I've had my nose in books the last few weeks and tonight, while working on a short piece just for fun, I can tell by my writing that I've been reading.  My description is much better as is my use of the English language in general.  I'm starting to breathe writing again.  My mind is constantly whirling with thoughts and plots and scenes.  A song can trigger a potential story.  It feels good.  Really good.  It feels like home. 

There is something very comfortable to me in writing and in imagining.  I've always had a very vivid imagination, always loved pretending to be some character or person, if only in my mind.  I've been doing this for almost as long as I can remember.  Back in the days of playing "Charlie's Angels" or "Donny and Marie" (I am really dating myself!) or even "Little House on the Praire".  Oh, or the "Trixie Belden Mysteries".  My friends and family and myself took roles in these games of imagination.  We became those characters if only for an afternoon at a time.  I used to dive into playing these people, much like I would if rehearsing for a play or musical.  I wanted to know the character inside out and would find myself relating to a given character in my real life situations.  I assumed a "role" when I resigned from my first job at a fast food joint.  I chose a character who would not be rattled or nervous, simply very matter-of-fact and it served me well.  At times a "role" will help me to chose to react to a situation or to a person. 

I love characters.  I get attached to them.  When reading a book and adoring a particular character, I always feel sad by the end of the book in knowing our relationship will no longer continue on paper.  Sometimes an especially well loved character will live on in my mind in new situations made up entirely by my imagination, even though the stories can never be shared because the character belongs to someone else.  But I enjoy the imaginary experiences and exercises in character development. 

I'm starting to work on my heroine in my mind.  I know her name and her situation and we are becoming better aquainted.  Once we are comfortable with each other, we will begin to tell her story.