Unstuck

She stopped writing, or caring about writing, for a long time. The manuscript sat in a box, finished and edited, for almost a year. She didn't care about the book anymore. She didn't really care much about anything. Before then, she was so sure of herself. She was confident in where she was, what she had and where she was going. She was confident in her words, both written and spoken. For a long time, she didn't care what other people thought about her ways, as long as she was doing the right thing and not hurting anyone. Now, she can make excuses all she wants. She can blame it on the move, or blame it on others, but what really happened was she got stuck. She stopped appreciating the amazing life she was leading, and got greedy. Not greedy for materialistic things, she'd never really been that way, just greedy for more...or just...different. Things were too easy for too long. No big problems. No huge worries. She was bored. She started moving her wheels, and everything was going along fine until she got stuck in the mud. She didn't call for help because she didn't like to ask. The more she tried to move, the more stuck she became and the deeper she went. She had forgotten about the rope. It was right there. Right outside the mud. She had never really used the rope much before, and didn't know if it could hold the weight, but when she finally grabbed onto it, that rope pulled her right out of the sticky pit onto the soft, dry, sweet-smelling grass. The rope let her wipe her muddy face on it, and while she cleaned herself, she realized that had it not been there she would have drown. She took a gigantic breath and sucked in all of the wonderfulness of her world and the rope led her away from the pit. Does she still have dirty feet? Heck yeah! Will they always be dirty? Nope. And they will most likely walk through a few more tiny mud puddles along the way, because she never really has been one to keep her feet clean for too long, but she plans on keeping them clean as much as possible and never going in past her ankles again. Do you know where the rope is now? She does. It's right there. Right now. She is in love with writing again, and she is in love with her amazing life again, and it is all because of the magnificent rope.

What's her rope?
What's yours?

Pushing It

I'm getting a bit turned off to all the social networking. I mean, it's fun and everything, but isn't it a bit narcissistic? It is, isn't it? Everyone is Facebooking, which is fun and great and keeps us from needing to lose ten pounds and figure out what to wear to high school reunions and whatnot, but the blogging and Twittering just seem so self-absorbed. I have to do this stuff if I want to do what I want to. And I really do want to do what I want to do, but I would like to do it without shoving myself down the throat of everyone I know. I try to rationalize it. Sometimes I tell myself, "It's okay Self, at least you have a reason for doing all this stuff." Everyone else has their reasons too I guess. I picture a monk somewhere, sitting in his peaceful place, thinking peaceful thoughts, and I wonder what his response to our obsession with ourselves would be. Would he sit and smile knowingly? Would he secretly pity us for not being enlightened or would he be too enlightened for that? Whatever. Once I've finished writing this, I will post it to Facebook and Twitter, feeling a bit crappy for pushing my junk upon the world once again. I'll picture that monk on his mountaintop (yes, he sits on a mountaintop overlooking a green valley with a river running through it. He sits under a shady tree wearing his orange robe, not worrying about his past or his future, and he is overjoyed) and I'll secretly envy his life. Tomorrow or the next day, I'll do it all again. Then again and again and again until I don't feel bad about it anymore, and tons more people will have read my book and all my friends will be sick of me. I hope the monk remains though. I like him.

Sidetracked

I spent most of the last few days designing and redesigning my new website. Looks pretty good but it isn't accessible from an iPhone. What?! Whatever. There are links to this blog,Facebook,Goodreads and Twitter. Learned a lot. It got me totally sidetracked but I'm just going to have to leave it alone now and get back to writing. I need to get as much writing in as I can before the moving process (ugh!) begins in a few days. I'm on it first thing in the morning...as soon as I get my daily giant iced coffee at McDonalds. So,...yeah.

New Stuff...

I really planned on spending a few hours writing every morning now that school's out. Reading Stephan King's book On Writing made me feel even more guilty for not writing daily. I will! I will! So much to do! Besides, I had to design a new website and blog. Here's the blog. Website is still jodibullock.com.

Jodi Bullock's Blog

May 27, 2011

Tacos

Tacos
05/27/2011
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I was working on my second book for a few hours this afternoon. The outline for the book is finished and the first three chapters are written. It is difficult this time because I want this book to be able to stand on it's own even though it's the second in a series. I love the process though. I have no idea what the characters are going to do or say until they actually do or say things. I don't know what the details are yet. I just wait to see what comes out. I love it! I wanted to just write and write, but my eyes started getting tired and I needed tacos. Real tacos. I lost focus. Tacos are very important. And rice. And beans. I tried to work through it. I really tried. The taco craving won. Los Betos is the decentest (Shut up. I made the word up and I like it) Mexican food in this town. It's actually the only decent Mexican food in this town. It's very hard on me being from Southern California. I just finished some delicious tacos and rice and beans, drank a Diet Coke, rested my eyes and as soon as I finish posting this blog, will go back to writing. I feel so much better now! I can't wait to see what the characters do next. Thank you delicious tacos!

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Published on May 27, 2011 17:26 • 7 views

May 19, 2011

Present tense

05/12/2011
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When we were very young, say four or five years old, we paid attention to things. Little things. Things that we, as adults, don't even really see. The things I remember most of that time are not big events, but tiny little moments of focus. Things looked different to me then. Not because I was small and the things were big. It's not that. At the time, I was looking at those things in the present, with a completely clear mind. I had made no huge mistakes and had no real regrets to dwell upon. I wasn't concerned about my future. I was just there. In that moment. I had a moment like that today driving home from McCall. It was one of the most beautiful highways that I have ever driven. As I drove alone on the highway for two hours, my mind was filled with all the usual crap. The crap that spins and spins constantly. The past. The future. I saw the beauty of the highway, but I really wasn't seeing it. I wasn't really there. I was in my head. And then I glanced over to my right at the river. It has a very strong current. Rapids in some places. The sun sparkled off the water. I had one of those moments. Pure focus on what I was looking at. I am not a nature freak. I think it's pretty and should be preserved, but I am usually not one to be in awe of it. At that moment, it was just like seeing from my four year old eyes. Then I realized something. That's why I love to write. To be in the present. To be completely there. No past. No future. When I write, I write in the present. My present. Total peace. When you do something you truly love, when creativity is flowing, it is impossible to not be there.