There is something magickal about Autumn. Nature slips from hurried pace of life to a slow restful slumber. I can feel the change creeping through me. It is utterly delicious.
I want to wrap myself in the veil, pull it around me like a hooded cloak and wonder the between places listening to the whispers of the spirits there. It makes me want to snuggle up with ghosts, let their stories pour out from me so others can drink them up.
It’s an ache that hits me every Fall. I’ll give in just a little and be left feeling unsatisfied until the next turning of the wheel and I’ll start this process all over again. I want to do things differently this time. I want to let this desire consume me.
Instead of worrying if it is right or good, I need to get the damned stories out, stop letting them haunt me, let my dark dirty mind run wild like demons loosed on the page. It’s exciting to think about. The idea of it is like the thrill that comes with a look from some sexy fucker wanting to devour you.
And scary as fuck.
Writing could be a total waste of my time. Maybe I’ll never finish one story. Maybe I will and no one will read it because it’s total trash. Maybe I’ll be abducted by aliens. None of those things really matter at this point. What matters is embracing desire and getting these things out of me, before they gnaw away at my insides turning me into a mindless empty shell.
Writing has always been something calls to me, whispers sweet nothings in my ear and then rips my heart out. I can’t avoid it. I can’t get away from it. I can run all I want, my writing will be patiently walking behind me like Jason Vorhees stalking a camp counselor.
There are many art/crafty things I enjoy doing, but writing feels different. It has never been something I can go without doing. It has always been the thing I’ve resisted the most, bagged on myself the most about and am totally addicted to. If it were possible, I’d probably bleed inky words.
I’m very good at helping others get their shit made. I need to start doing it for myself too. I’m making a commitment to myself (yes, I’ve said this before) to get one story done. All the way done, written to the end, edited and published. No starting any new stories. No hopping from one to another and half assing things. Full bare ass or nothing.
What is your creativity calling you to commit to?