I certainly don't have multiple personalities, but I have multiple writing personalities.
My more well-known personality is the driving force behind a humor site, a sports blog, and a bunch of sports-related articles. She's funny and snarky, and lots of people read her stuff. She's fun, funny, and upbeat.
I can't be that person when I'm writing this story.
That world is too normal. I can't be there while writing this.
I've taken time off from work to write the story; instead, I keep getting assignments for sports-related pieces. Which I love writing. I have a fan base there.
I need to be writing this story.
I'm trying to induce some inspiration. Sasha and Riley have been too quiet lately. I slathered on some scented lotion that reminds me of someone. White musk. Reminds me of twilight in the park, holding hands after sharing the first of several kisses. The sky was purple and the city was aglow. There was magic there on that spring night.
That magic, gained and then lost, is part of what inspired this story. But it's more than that--so much more.
I'm terrified of losing that. I need to write about it.
I need to be Bellamy Cole again.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
It's been an awful weekend for me, personally. There's this boy, and there's a character in my story who's loosely based on said boy. Boy is missing and I seem to be the only one worried. I went to his place in the ghetto to find him. To my knowledge, nobody has seen him since yesterday morning. I have not heard from him since 2 AM yesterday morning, and the last message I received from him was disturbing and gave me cause to worry. That, and the fact that we had plans last night, was the reason I went into his ghetto-ass neighborhood, by myself, to find him. I couldn't find him. Neither could anyone else who lived there. His room is dark; his door is locked. It's unclear whether he's simply not there or if he is in there. He would not answer his phone for anyone. He has still not returned my frantic calls and messages. I'm scared. I'm terrified for him, and to some degree I'm scared for me. What if something bad has happened? What if he's hurt? How will I go on? How will this story ever get finished? Normal people...would not understand what he and I have, but I know. (I keep putting things in the past tense, and then going back and present tensing them. I have no proof that anything is past tense. I just have a bad gut feeling.) If I ever find out that he was in there, and hurt, when I was downstairs, outside...I will never forgive myself. I wanted to tell his friend to bust into his room, just see if he's there, or get the building's super, but those are not rational things to say. Then again, I'd rather be looked upon as irrational then as someone who didn't do enough. I did all I felt I could handle at the moment, though. And I'm hoping that wherever he is, he's OK, and that I hear from him soon.