Bring The Pain

I am sick of being sick and frustrated and complaining. I reread what I wrote the past two days and it makes me cringe. I have to let go of all of that negativity. It's doing nothing for me but festering and growing like a cancer inside my heart and my brain turning me into a negative nasty ungrateful person who I don't want to be. I need to let go. I need to let go. I need to let go.

I think I made some strides last night. I purged in the past two days' blogs and I purged with K last night. And I purged with V last night during our long walk and lengthy dinner. The cancer should be gone for the time being. My soul should be in remission for the time being. There is nothing that makes me feel more uncomfortable in my skin than the cloak of negative thoughts surrounding me like prison walls.

I met with Literary Agent C.Small extraordinaire who has been reading my blog regarding turning it into a book. She consulted with colleagues at her agency who suggested publishers and agreed that it would make a good read. Supposedly new female writers my age are sought after right now. And C.Small said that I have 'it,' but admonished me that the talent isn't enough. I have a lot of work to do, it isn't as if I can just print out my blogs and send them to a publisher. The book as we discussed it will be based on the blogs and use the blogs but the structure will be different and the order will be different and the concept will be a little different. Me being me, cocky, retorted, "I'm not scared of a lot of hard work, I know what my abilities are. I can do this, no problem."

There are two sides to this for me. On the one hand; this is what I have been hoping for and wishing for and preparing for my entire life. This has been my dream, my goal, my highest aspiration and ambition. It is one of the things I was born to do. If there is any silver lining validating the pain and suffering of the past two years it is the realization of this dream. Or that the pain and suffering of the past two years clarified how precious life is, how important it is to mold your life into your perfect piece of art and how fear is just a waste of time keeping you from living life in its fullest expression so not to do what I was born to do would be a tragedy.

I don't know fear anymore because of what I have gone through these past two years. An example came up yesterday when V and I were talking about boys. She remarked that she isn't good at being single. I reminded her that the worst has happened. The only boy she wanted to marry is gone; the worst has happened. Who cares if some random dude she meets in a bar doesn't ask for her number; he won't break her heart, it's already broken. The worst has happened. She's free from the fear of rejection because after the ultimate rejection, these little ones don't even sting. Me, I don't have fear about my writing anymore. People may misunderstand and find me depressing or sad or intense because I am real and don't gift wrap my life or cover up my flaws with frosting but I know I am bringing something different to the table and doing it in my own unique way. Anyway, C.Small said I have "it." She wouldn't waste her time on me if she didn't mean that.

Additionally, because I am a person of challenge, adventure and achievement, I need a project. When I started running, it didn't take long to decide to run a marathon. I needed to attach a goal to my new hobby. I couldn't just run to run. And now blogging is the new running and as challenging and enriching and therapeutic as my daily blog is, I need more. I don't want to write to write anymore. I want to write my marathon. And now I have the support and a gameplan courtesy of C.Small, literary agent extraordinaire, akin to my first marathon training schedule.

And now for the other hand. The other hand partly regrets my cocky response to C.Small. I have no doubt in my ability to write at that level or put in the requisite hours but when I printed out the blogs yesterday I had trouble reading some of them. When you're feeling stuck and stagnant and frustrated and reading yourself complain about feeling stuck and stagnant and frustrated, you start to feel even more stuck and stagnant and frustrated. It is validating seeing the words on paper. Suddenly they are real and not in your head, not in your imagination. So therein lies the challenge. I need to delve even deeper into myself. And on a daily basis I dig. Now with the synthesizing and uncovering recurring themes, I will have to really go in there and excavate, scraping every piece of blood out of my heart, sucking all of the air out of my lungs, scrubbing my insides clean, getting it all on the page so it is cohesive and coherent and comprehensive. A daunting task, one that I have to gear up for and then submerge myself in. I read that James Frey in writing A Million Little Pieces wrote the first 40 pages put it down and didn't pick it up until 10 years later and even then he never read the complete manuscript; because it was too intense, it brought him back to his worst moments. Me being me will have to read and reread and read and reread mine until I am convinced it is as perfect as it can be, ugh. So strength is what I need. Okay, I'm going in .... wish me luck.