It's a Bitch To Grow Up

I need to start my novel. It's six days into NaNoWriMo and I haven't even written one word. Beth's post on The Snowflake Method keeps me coming back; reading it over and over while trying to figure out how this is done. The years have flown by since I've written anything creative or inspired, and I feel like that small part of me is dead. How do I bring it back to life?

It's been 10 years of investment

It's been one foot in and one out

It's been 4 days of full of shit

and I feel snuffed out

How do I resurrect the heart of that seven year old girl who read her first chapter book and dreamed of one day being the creator of such genius?

It's been 33 years of restraining

Of trying to control this tumult

How I did invest in such fantasy

But my nervous system has worn out

How do I awaken the mind of the sixth grader who wrote stories with disturbing twists and plot lines that shocked her teachers? That provoked thoughts and questions while still inspiring the question "Where did she come up with that?"

How do I reactivate the drive of the teenager hell-bent on becoming a renowned novelist? So much so she had a head full of ideas and a notebook constantly within reach.

I feel done, I feel raked over coals

and all that remains is the case

That it's a bitch to grow up

How do I rekindle the passion that led to many notebooks filled with mind-writes and poetry? Have I lost the fire and the life within me?

I've repeated this dance ad-nauseum

There's still something to learn that I've not

I'm told to see this as divine perfection

But my bones don't feel this perfection

My Muse has been gone for quite some time, and I worry she may never come back. I fear the stresses of the real world have proven too much for her and she isn't able to handle the constant worry over paying bills, working eight-to-five, putting gas in the car, balancing the checkbook, and making sure I remember to pick up groceries on the way home. She was meant for livelier things like running through the sprinklers at two in the morning or hiking up the mountain barefoot.

I feel done, I feel raked over coals

and all that remains is the case

That it's a bitch to grow up

I've spent life hovering above bottom

Thinking I can't survive what's below

But I've known through the kicking and screaming

That there was no other direction to go

I feel done, I feel raked over coals

and all that remains is the case

That it's a bitch to grow up

I would like her to come back, and I would like to let go of everything that pushes the Muse away. The things in life are not going to change. I still have to work, put gas in the car and stop at the store; but I don't have to stress over it.

Right now, I would really like to "put pen to paper" and write. I miss the feeling that comes when the ideas flow through and become reality, and I miss the way I felt when I used to write. Six days in and still the words have not come, but the weekend is here, and hopefully a little self-reflection will help. It's the first weekend in my new apartment, as I've only been able to be there for a few hours in the evenings and when I'm sleeping. I plan on some more unpacking, self-reflection/meditation, and some quality time with the roommate. Thank the Gods that it's Friday... I've needed it for so long...

Song Lyrics: Alanis Morisette - It's a Bitch to Grow Up