What can save me from my own thoughts?

 "To write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write."

- Gertrude Stein

I’m a creature of the night. It’s when the wheels of my mind start turning. The thoughts that bombard me are the ones I manage to go all day not dwelling on. But at night, it’s nearly impossible because there are no interruptions. It’s the same feeling I get when I have to drive for long periods of time with no one else in the car, but me. So, I write. There’s no rhyme or reason to what gets written down or the order in which the words cascade out from my fingers. *shrug* They just flow out every which way they like. Sometimes I write about what I’m feeling, but lately, I’ve been trying to channel all of that into writing a story.

I’ve tried writing before, but I’ve never gotten more than two to three good paragraphs before I hit a brick wall. It’s the reason I think I’ll be writing this story forever. I’m going to try not to give up on this one because…I let someone else read it. I hardly ever let anyone see my writing. Normally, I just write something and discard it or I keep it where I’m the only one that can see it, but this time, I shared it with someone else, with a writer. She liked it and she spear headed an enthusiasm in me that had me thinking of a beginning and a middle and an end. I’d never gotten that far before and I was slightly impressed by the story I could possibly weave about two souls that continue to meet up in life when things seem to go amiss time and time again, sometimes by outside forces other times by their own stubbornness, fear, and just plain old mistakes.

I always hear writers talk about their characters as if they’re all real and controlling their own fates. I was talking to someone who was working on a novel. I asked her what her story was about and as she proceeded to tell me about characters, I was amazed when she said that her two main characters had somewhat derailed her original storyline for them and she was hoping they would get back on track. I thought to myself, how strange she talks about the characters as if they’re real people and she’s just a spectator in their lives, but it’s something I’ve noticed with all writers. I want to be in that strange place too because the best stories seem to come when writers talk about their characters as if they’re the actual ones controlling the way things turn out with their actions.

I call my writings snippets. I’ve written many things. I start. I can get a short piece. They flow through my fingertips onto the page with such ease and then? Nothing. It’s over as suddenly as the idea came to me. I want the snippets to turn into pages and the pages to turn into chapters. But…we’ll see because my randomness has me all over the place. For now…I’m going to share one of my snippets that only one other person has seen, but not for long.

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Snippet :) 

He was by no means a perfect man. He had flaws like anyone else. When it came to kindness and a willingness to be helpful to others, a funny warm tingle stirred in the pit of her belly, a sort of pride that he could be such a good man, almost to a fault because he tended to not want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but then…there were relationships. 

He was an utter mess. She was a mess all of her own accord, sure. It had been a mess that brought them together, a period of time where she felt like she was spiraling out of control and then she saw him walk into the room when she was out with a group of her friends one night. 

She’d never done anything like what she was about to do. Butterflies swarmed in the pit of her stomach. She was almost lightheaded at the implications of her thoughts, but she’d never wanted anything more than she had in that moment and she was used to getting her way. But this time, she couldn’t see the forest from the trees. She wasn’t prepared for what would happen when they tripped into each other’s lives. And so it began.  

She ached to be near this man, to feel him. It was a feeling she hadn’t known was there until it dawned on her how much she really cared. It was confusing. When she looked at him, she could see a lifetime, but she could see pain and hurt too. She could see a promise of happiness in spite of it all. It was these raw, unadulterated feelings that hit her with a realization. 

She was in love.

She knew it was true, no matter how much she tried to deny it. She didn't have an eloquent string of words to say why she loved him. The answer was simple. She felt alive with him. 

She knew her feelings were real because they had stayed, lurked in her heart and soul enduring pain, betrayal, lies, deceit, hurt, anger, lust, hardship, and now loss. It was this love, so pure and true that had broken her to the core, through her spirit. She could live her life without him and she would love again, but he had ruined her because she feared that she would never love anyone the way she had loved this man. She had fought against it and lost. He’d taken root within her and there was no going back from what it had awakened in her heart.

How many times had she asked herself how she’d ended up in this place with this man? And how many times had she purposely pushed all the buttons she knew would push him away? And how many times had she sabotaged any chance of having anything real with him from her naïve assumption that she could keep her heart from being broken, that she could keep herself from falling, that she could keep herself from ever being hurt if she never got her feelings involved. If she never cared enough, he could never hurt her. If that was the case, why was her heart a mess of broken pieces? 

She was hurting now and he was gone.