I went to lunch today with my sister-in-law and was describing the chaos I have been experiencing inside my head at the current state of my life. I mentioned there was a version of myself running around screaming in my head and she laughed. “I just saw a minion running around in your head screaming.”
Suddenly, all I can see are minions in my head. One minion is jumping up and down while yelling, “Writing! Writing! Writing!” liked a crazed cheerleader. Another cries in a corner. Others are racing, wearing veils and holding rosary beads and trying to out-pray the others (I’m not catholic so not sure where this imagery originates). Each one shouts a mantra of a worry that I have. A chorus of everything that could possibly go wrong. Another minion holds a bullhorn and screams, “Everything will be okay. Trust that 2015 will be an awesome year,” but he can’t quite drown out the other voices.
What does this have to with writing? Well without going into a lot of detail, my life right now is in a transitory phase. I was downsized last year and have been spending my days writing like crazy but as the prospect of getting a new job is crashing down upon me (hence minion crying in the corner), I feel like I’m a condemned woman facing the gallows. All of this wonderful, amazing creative time will disappear into a black hole when I finally get a job and I hate, loathe and abhor it. I keep praying for some miracle. “Meet a rich man, win the lottery, sell a book” repeats endlessly in my head like a mantra of insanity. The truth is that I like working but having had this time to really pour myself into the process of writing, I’m feeling a bit haunted by the fact that soon my life will be very small.
I’m not a morning person so working an 8-5 job means I’ll have only about 3 hours a day to write, eat, clean the house, take care of kitties, do laundry, and attend to all the other intricacies of life. Saturdays I’ll sleep late compensating for the unholy schedule (did I mention I’m a night person?). Then I’ll write desperately all weekend while trying to finish whatever got left behind in the M-F drone. Hmm. Never really thought about it but M-F makes me thing of other not so nice words than Monday through Friday.
All I want to do right now is hole up somewhere with a computer and write until I can’t feel my hands and the minion voices in my head recede. Why when I most want to write does the world stands on my doorstep demanding attention? Why am I suddenly blessed with tons of amazing ideas for stories but no time to do more than write out an outline and character descriptions? *sigh*
Anyway, just a peek into that labyrinth that is my mind write now. Dead man walking . . . B