The thing is that I seem to be getting into a rut. Somehow, the stories are looping, circling again and again around the same themes - broken relationships, broken trust, realism, disconnected faith and being lost.
It always comes back to broken dreams, and the unexpected happenings, which throws the protagonists into a spiraling circle of depression. And depression is the long recurring theme in all my 'realistic' stories. My fantasy stories have tortured protagonists, and agony, but not depression. They're too busy trying to survive to bother about what they feel emotionally.
Maybe because I'm sometimes borderline depressive, or depressed, and it's catharsis to write it that way. Or maybe because that is what I know. I can't write happy. I've long realised that I don't really know how to be. Contented yes, looking forward to something, yes, but I've yet to be able to live fully in the moment. I'm always living on tomorrow and I suppose it has to stop.
But these stories, they're not going anywhere. Maybe because I've been stagnant for too long, and lazy. And I've never really quite moved on.
And yet it seems to me that the root cause of it is because I'm not thinking deep enough, hard enough, and I'm contented and complacent in my apathy (oh, the loops I'm making again). And I'm not delving because I'm not writing and I'm not writing because I'm not thinking and it all comes back to the same thing.
I need to be pushed. I need to be told 'there take this, run with it, because I KNOW YOU CAN'. I need that motivation that runs parallel to mine, not in front pulling me to places I cannot go, and not behind, pushing me because of their lack of ability, but alongside, saying we're in this together and we'll get somewhere because you have what it takes and so do I and where we individually lack, that's where we grow as one and cover each other's back.
And I never volunteer, but if I'm taking the effort to give you feedback and I care enough to try to make things better, that's how I'm telling you to use me, inviting you to invite me. because I never volunteer (mostly) but I said that already.
Oh the complexity of a melancholic phlegmatic introvert.
And so I write in loops, as this piece goes, and the rambling headed to nowhere camp nano novel because I don't know where I'm going from here even though I really do.
It's the execution that kills. and that is what is freaking me, although I know that it's time and it's right but I can't for the life of me figure out how, and that's where people say trust in God and I say I do but the question still says how?
Write it down, Anna. Without vision, the people perish.
and what you write will call forth life.