Sometimes you find people who are extraordinary.
That would be Rarasaur.
Just reading something on her blog is enough to stir inspiration, gratitude, optimism on even the most sullen, miserable, depressing, painful days. I’m writing this on one of those days. See? Proof.
She recently put up a list, a challenge, of 30 things to do on your social media of choice.
Her original post and first #Somethingist is here. Check it out! And maybe join in. 😉
And I quote:
I’d love to see your somethings, wherever or however they be…
Something unfinished 2. Something unlikely 3. Something true 4. Something invisible 5. Something damaged 6. Something possible 7. Something displaced 8. Something shocking 9. Something substantial 10. Something fragile 11. Something temporary 12. Something surprising 13. Something strong 14. Something illuminated 15. Something dangerous 16. Something secret 17. Something foretelling 18. Something obvious 19. Something celebratory 20. Something repaired 21. Something terrifying 22. Something lucky 23. Something suspicious 24. Something healing 25. Something silly 26. Something far 27. Something near 28. Something open 29. Something closed 30. Something overdone
This is what a writer’s desk is supposed to look like, in my opinion.
When caught in the rush of research.
When fumbling through the folders of ideas, stray thoughts, array of disorderly characters, traces of madness, wee plot bunnies bounding about – all circling your mind. A whirlwind of grounding inspiration and, for me, life blood. I know that last sounds a bit dorky, but it’s true for me.
I don’t’ feel alive if I’m not writing. If I’m not lost in a story, weaving threads through this scene and the next, nosing along this character, watching her take off in leaps and bounds.
Writing isn’t just something I do to deal with life, to cope with my reality.
It is how I live. How I breathe. It’s how I can move through the waters of life without feeling I’m drowning, alone, and no one cares. In fact, some might point and laugh.
Writing rights all of that. All the injustice in my reality. All the pain.
I didn’t realize it until just recently – but writing is what gets me through. My life lights up like something to be lived, to be enjoyed, when I write.
Perhaps a writer’s desk doesn’t need to have specifically what I do. And mine certainly changes from day to day. Messy to organized. Binders and books to simply my laptop and an open word document.
That’s not the point.
The point is, there are writing tools on my desk. I am actively using it to expand the landscapes in my heart.
The point, is to write so I can be fulfilled. So I can slip into myself like a spirit into flesh.
The point is to write so that I can become real.
And so what is unfinished?
My novel. Blair’s story.
I’ve finally brought myself back to writing.
I’d like to finish this novel. Finish the edits, read it over and decide if it’s solid, then send it out to critique partners. Soon after that, I’ll be sending to literary agents. (Even typing that has me excited all over again.)
It’s an unfinished story.
And that is not something I want to leave in the dark recesses of my soul.