April 16th, 2015

Three months and I go back to school. I go to the Island, the religious retreat where every time I walk into the Chapel, I am convinced it will burst into flames. I look at my life and where I went wrong and I feel like I am a GPS that constantly needs re-routing. Calling Siri for some help here. It's frustrating as all hell when I see jobs come up that I could have had if I had just finished whatever the task at hand was. I could have been a paralegal, a real estate agent, a lawyer. I could have made some serious bank if I did not want to try new and different things all of the time.
I am not a fiction writer because I think that some of the things that have happened to me in my life are better than fiction. Plus, I am not one to take mystical creatures and put them in a battle zone or crazy shit like that. I once wrote about talking therapeutic flowers. Probably the drugs that my parents did in the sixties rubbing off on me. Now, I write what I know and that is my life. I also write about other peoples lives because really, we thrive on those who fail. Success stories suck. The only way that they can even be remotely entertaining is if there was some big inner struggle that pushed out of the darkness and into the light. And even then, it cannot be perfect. That's my life.

I find the light but then, I sabotage myself because God forbid I ruin the story for everyone. A friend of mine asked me why I keep dating troubled men. I told her that I needed more chapters for my book. She then told me I would probably have to write more than one book if I was to keep going this route and it is true. I cannot just say "I am going to write." I have to feel something, a trigger where I must spew my emotions out and let everyone know how I am feeling. Only then can true genius be produced when one is completely inside their twisted world and lost for as long as they can be. 

Sometimes, I wish I could get lost for a longer period of time. I would get more work done and have a more complete story but I am still so incomplete. I have an ending to the book I am writing but what about the next one and the one after that? Will I have to be a glutton for punishment for the rest of my life in order to entertain others and sell books? Wow...I have a long road ahead of me if that is the case. Why can't I just write about talking flowers again?

Much Love, 
Mandi