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May. 30th, 2003 04:37 pmsigh. i am on fire for writing. i want to call teresa and pester her to death, to get me the job at the newsleader. i want to spend every minute writing cracked, but i start to go crazy. totally nuts. like my eyes hurt and my hands hurt and my head hurts, and i have to walk away. (i don't know why this journal is any different than writing that, either - it's like when you walk a long hot way to the grocery store or mall, and then when you get there you don't feel all miserable anymore, because you got there. even though you are still walking.)
two nights ago i submitted a poem and a story to an online zine that gets 20,000 hits a day and releases hard copy book collections of it's best stuff every year, with good pay for everyone included. last week i called elle's feature editor, i'ma be getting back to her momentarily, and i've started that article, whether they want it or not.
i'm making .wav files of me reading my poetry, to burn onto cds and distribute free all over miami and the keys. me and memo spent the weekend collaborating about his illustrations for my children's book. etc....
agents, paradox, tired, excited, po box, jumping on the couch "i'm gonna be an underground sensation!" fan mail?!
how crazy am i? can i trust someone who seems almost surely to be a fake based on my unquenchable desire to succeed and my surety and faith that i will? yes, yes i can. i can believe that doors open up for me out of what appears to be a solid wall. and be grateful. and i can keep just a tiny iota of "sense" about myself and protect myself in the process.
it is really hard to be on fire to throw myself headlong into a career, and to have grant dead set and determined to make his business work and quit his job, and still be engaged, still raise kids. such a constant balancing act, like all these cords pulling me in different directions. i've gotten really stretchy.
two nights ago i submitted a poem and a story to an online zine that gets 20,000 hits a day and releases hard copy book collections of it's best stuff every year, with good pay for everyone included. last week i called elle's feature editor, i'ma be getting back to her momentarily, and i've started that article, whether they want it or not.
i'm making .wav files of me reading my poetry, to burn onto cds and distribute free all over miami and the keys. me and memo spent the weekend collaborating about his illustrations for my children's book. etc....
agents, paradox, tired, excited, po box, jumping on the couch "i'm gonna be an underground sensation!" fan mail?!
how crazy am i? can i trust someone who seems almost surely to be a fake based on my unquenchable desire to succeed and my surety and faith that i will? yes, yes i can. i can believe that doors open up for me out of what appears to be a solid wall. and be grateful. and i can keep just a tiny iota of "sense" about myself and protect myself in the process.
it is really hard to be on fire to throw myself headlong into a career, and to have grant dead set and determined to make his business work and quit his job, and still be engaged, still raise kids. such a constant balancing act, like all these cords pulling me in different directions. i've gotten really stretchy.
