I’ve writing the story of Faith Carson for nearly 7 years, maybe 8. And I finally found a format I enjoy telling her story in: TV. Of course, I am neither a paid TV writer nor do I have contact with anyone who is. But I do see this playing out like a TV show. I have written the first episode and edited it a few times. The more script writing books I read, the more I’ll probably want to change about it. But for now, it’s at its best yet, so feel free to take a peak and tell me what you think.
I’m taking an acting class starting Friday. What brought this on? you ask. Well… first I’ve always been a bit… dramatic. Theatrical, if you will. Some of my earliest memories are of me fantasizing about starring in an amateur production of The Lion King. I was – of course – Nala. And my crush through all of elementary played Simba. I had the time of my life running around my imaginary stage and throwing everything I had into my make-believe world. Until – of course – my dad walked in and then i threw myself into pretending I was doing nothing as embarrassing as what I knew he caught me doing. Dad typically laughed – not maliciously – but it still made me self concious. Anyway, over the years that little girl who longed to expressing herself by playing a character hid away inside the woman who was too scared of being made fun off. But no more! I’m taking a class to hone my mad theatrical skills. And I’m super thrilled.
I have writer’s block. I feel stuck in my mind. When I go to the bookstore, I immediately beeline for the writing section and peruse book about novel writing, hoping that within their pages lie the cure to my mind’s disease. They don’t. They all say the same thing in different ways with varying levels of vulgarity. I am uninspired. I am desperate for help. I wish someone could look at it (the unfinished manuscript-in-progress) – professionally, even – and tell me – kindly please – how exactly to get back into the swing of things and – to quote a writer on writing – “write a damn good novel.” But I can’t honestly say there is anyone on this planet whom this story might remotely interest besides me and those obligated to interest by family ties.
Is this why the muse is dead? It knows that I secretly fear that all of this is for nothing. Bt the truth is – I want it out. The story. Out of my head. Even if just for me. But I just don’t know how! It’s a sad, empty, lonely, depressing feeling – having all these thoughts, all these ideas – and no clue how to put them out there.
I am a writer who does not – cannot – write. How uninspiring.
I’m trying to be a writer. Trying and failing miserably. I hae all these ideas I was to flesh out into these characters that are often more real to me than the real people in my life. These “people” I’ve made up are my invisible friends – talking to me, showing me who they are or who they could be and begging me to tell the world about them through my imagination and my pen. But I feat the rest of m life has crowded into the tiny space I sawve for writing and creativity. I lack instpiration. I haven’t in so long I no long feel like a writer. No, just a girl who once had a dream but now has only an empty notebook. And maybe schizophrenia.