JuneJuly

General Musings

It has been a busy couple of months! June, I spent navigating how to copilot my brain. July, I’ve been sprinting. 

The summer has flown by in a kind of tunnel, and every time I look up, weeks have gone by. July has been full of family and sunshine as well as travel and too much work–with the constant mantra of, “I’ll find the balance. Whoops, I’ll find it tomorrow.” It’s also been scattered with writing, which does wonders at bringing the scales back in line a bit, steadying the breath, quieting some brain-swirling. 

At the beginning of July, I went to a writer’s retreat in Boston, where I got to meet some of the incredible writers (in person!) I’ve been working with in my program for the last two years. It was motivating and joyful. To listen to the work and ideas of other writers, share in conversations and coffee, and explore not only Boston, but the profound and complex worlds these authors have been creating was an inspiration. 

Back in Seattle, I have been continuing getting words on the page. I have recently had a short story accepted into a small anthology, which I am excited to share more about as the publication date gets nearer. I also placed second in the first round of the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction competition and will be moving on to the second round this weekend.

Craft Concern

During the writing retreat, a partner and I were asked to personify a writerly struggle and play off each other’s creations. A few months ago, I wrote about the motivation goblin and was interested in expanding on those little bastards a little bit more, as well as exploring another aspect of creative hiccups, one that I found to be pretty monstrous in June, but which has since then been shown the door, and has thankfully stayed away. 

Creativity is such a wonder, and I am grateful that I have the opportunity to syphon ink onto a page from my brain and swirl it around to make stories. That’s pretty cool. It’s also a slog. Sometimes it’s frustrating, discouraging, comic-book style “arrrrrgh” level aggravating. So if you’re feeling that and have the urge to get your dastardly demon onto the page, send them along, and they can keep the motivation goblins company in the words and not our minds. 

Motivation Goblins: Part 2 

The motivation goblin is hungry, and only by action can it be slain. Usually, the sword is ready; if not for that day, the next. But sometimes the motivation goblin is a little too quick, a little too big, a little too hungry, and it takes over the day. No problem, though. There isn’t much damage a goblin can do in one night. It might stay up too late. Maybe watch too much TV a little too loudly while the world falls asleep. Jumping on the bed, snacking around. Or talk talk talking slumber away as it spun in circles, around around in the desk chair from the corner of the bedroom. Not much damage. Nothing that can’t be tidied up the next day. Because tomorrow rises over horizons and as the pinks and oranges dissolve to day, the goblin drops off to sleep. Exhausted from its gorging. 

And a new day begins. 

But on waking, the bed, so comfortable and warm, the goblin grins down from the ceiling where it sticks like a gecko, but those sticky little things are without such long, sharp teeth. 

That new day, another goblin pops into the house. In a puff of smoke that should be vacuumed up, but… Just as smelly, just as hungry, just as sneaky and crafty and quick and every time it’s within reach, just a stretch away from being caught, the other one knocks over a coffee cup, loses a phone, throws laundry in the air like confetti. And both sprint away in squeaking laughter. 

The next day, there’s another. 

And another.

Another. 

And when the house is brimmed with goblins gorging on sludgy dregs of motivation, there’s a knock at the door. Can’t answer. But the knocking. No one is home. The goblins are though. And they don’t hesitate. Not a moment. Chattering, bouncing, heckling they toss open the door and scatter. 

In slides a thing. So much worse, darker, more powerful than any goblin could be. An apathy apparition, cold and gray, slithers into the house. When just over the threshold, it expands its umbra, saturating corners and crevices, permeating even the hidden excitements or joys from behind the sofa and under the fridge that–how long have those been there? 

The apathy apparition descends, all fog and smoke devouring.

I miss the goblins.