Feast on the Word


Okay, language commence!

I know I need to write this post as a story because I’ve got writers’ group tomorrow night and I don’t know what the hell I will do if I can’t write it now.  I mean, I could try to write at work in an email, I will have to put in something (there’s no easy way to account for this, I’ve quite thoroughly discovered) so I can print it off and read it.  It’s just both problematic and weird where I’m in such a crash accounting course situation to break away and try and turn on this other side of my brain and get cracking because in most ways, there is a little extra time to think if I elect to use that time for writing.  I want to.  I could do so much with that extra morning time. I’ve been reading, which comes as a shock to everyone, I know, if only a travel book about Florence that I picked up.  It’s written in a bit of a tedious style, but it’s crammed with historical information and it’s held my focus which is more than I can say for most everything else lately.   I have been working on what is shaping up to be something of a workable outline for my novel, or at least the most workable one I’ve come up with so far on the basis of the feedback I got at our last meeting.  But that’s not done and it’s not, currently, inspiring me to write anything specific, fiction-wise, here.  Damnit.  Definitely not doing NaNoWriMo.  Just trying to do…something.

I also know that there’s still no Italy posts so it quite seems as though I didn’t go anywhere at all and I did, I did.


Okay, let’s look forward to more pressure in the morning because I can’t think of a damn thing about the story that I want to write.  I’m not really interested in talking about depreciation and journal entries and audit prep, either.  Again.

I’m still focused on the larger idea, I guess, of just getting to a place where I feel organized and good and ready to, y’know, progress?  Where I am able to say, okay, let’s get this place clean instead of feeling so taken over by it.  That everything has to be pushed off just so that I don’t feel like numbness is the best way to traverse the distance between here and there, now and then.  That I can just handle things as they come up.  I’m getting better.  Just not far enough fast enough for my own comfort right now.

But I did, somehow, this awkward, anxious girl that I am, get myself flown thousands of miles over a whole Atlantic Ocean where nobody gave a shit about any of that.  My money spent and when you just felt like you were hanging out with a friend, albeit one who knows about the significance of the direction of the blade of the angel atop Castel Sant’angelo.  You could be scared, but what was the point of that?

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