Hmmm…

  What next?  Should I try to write something instead of copying first drafts from notebooks into second drafts onto the computer like I’ve been doing for hours?

 

  There are voices outside.  They’re arguing at 11 at night. 

  Rambunctious.

 

  I’m not sure if I can really ask my mind to perform like a circus monkey.  I think I will need to add new stories to it, soon.

 

  I’m always working.  On something.  I have many life passions.  I have a burning, seething need to create…

                                           …something. 

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Can’t Sleep…

  Buzzing brain again.  And yet again I let it keep me up until five in the morning before trying to write. 

  Writing seems to help me do something about it because it allows me to bottle neck my thoughts to the point where I have to focus just enough to get one word out at a time.

 

  So, what do I want to write about?  I ask myself that a lot.  Maybe I’ll write about writing.  Maybe I’ll reveal some dark secret from my day or some distant past.

 

  Maybe I’ll use this page to rant about an error on my or someone else’s part. 

 

  Maybe I’ll guilt trip and whine about all the mistakes I’ve made, just today, which will domino into all the mistakes I’ve ever made in my entire life.

 

  When I was five…

 

  Wait, what?  Did you think I was actually going to go there?  Hell no.  I have at least two notebooks filled with angsty poetry and ranty rants. 

Thoughts of a Schizo in Love

  Sunset.  Daybreak.  Minute melts into minute.  Same hours that the unseen walk.

  Those were the hours I draped myself in the burnt yellow glow of street lights.

  Those were the times I made it into tomorrow in the rain.

 

  Help me put this all together.

 

  I’m not sure how I got here, or where here is, really. 

  But I’m happy.

 

  I can’t tell you the shape of things, even when I try to.  I see the shadow of my hair falling, I hear strumming.  My body feels worn in marvelous ways. 

  I’m a little hungry, but not starving.

  I remember tonight in colors, and moments of fragmented clarity. 

 

  So, who am I today?

 

  Does it matter? 

 

  Should I cry?

 

  Nah,

        I’ll drink instead.

 

  Or drink down this delicious man, sitting right across from me.

 

  Maybe I should just breathe in the moment like the purest cocaine. 

I did mention that I would be keeping followers updated on submission calls that I hear about, right?

TCJWW

The California Journal of Women Writers seeks submissions from female writers/poets/students for its first biannual chapbook of short fiction and poetry. This first publication has an open theme – we want to read the creative pieces that are most meaningful to you. The deadline to send in your submissions is Friday, November 16th, 2012.

Submission Guidelines:

-You must be a North American female writer submitting your own, unpublished creative short fiction and/or poetry.
-Each submission must be no longer than 2,000 words.
-All submissions must be sent to editor@tcjww.org in the BODY of the email – NO ATTACHMENTS WILL BE OPENED. Please title your email “Chapbook Submission.”
-Include a CV and short bio along with your submission
-You may submit as many pieces of work for consideration as you’d like.

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My First Attempt to Write About Writing

 

  What would you possibly post up on that blog of yours, if you had a chance?  I can’t wait to see this…

  Well, maybe if I put the focus on my writing, I’ll actually write more.

  You write plenty!  When you’re a writer, you find time to write.  And you always have!  So what makes you think you wouldn’t even if you actually got *gasp* a freaking job?

And that is the argument I had with myself before making this blog.

Hello everyone.  I’m Eliza Divine, but I’m going to go by the moniker TC180.

In case you hadn’t gotten the point of this little circus, I am a writer.

And, I know, it’s difficult to take that proclamation seriously when I just began a sentence with And.  It will also likely be difficult to take seriously once I tell you that I have no award-winning or top-selling novels to tell you about, nor have I ever written an article for a mainstream print publication.

What makes me a writer is that from the age off 11 and onward, I have consistently written, without thought, every day or near to it.  I have half a dozen diaries, dozens of notebooks and binders, old and new hard drives of stories, poems, rants, scripts and ideas.  I write on the notepad feature of my iPhone (412 notes and counting).  I write on the backs of newspapers, and have even left a small speech on a jail cell wall.

When I’m not writing, I’m speaking.  When I’m not doing either of those, I’m reading or listening.

I’m not writing this blog because I think I know the ins and outs of the business.  I’m not writing this because I think people have a lot to learn from me.

I’m writing this because I have to write, and I would like to share that experience with others.  I’m writing this because as I learn from my mistakes and triumphs, maybe others can learn from them, too.

Sometimes I will just be ranting at myselves, sometimes I’ll share snippets of things I’m working on in hopes of an opinion, and sometimes I’ll be sharing online resources or submission calls.  In any case, just know that I will be sharing too much.

Be warned.  What is on my mind isn’t always palatable.

I’m TC.  Welcome to my journey.