Copied From My Tumblr

I never write on here anymore, because my heart lies with my tumblr. A big fustercluck of Harry Potter and Doctor Who?! Count me in on THAT action.
But I do think sometimes I should write in here. So I will just copy my latest post from tumblr to get me back in the groove.

I watched “Sylvia” the other day. The movie about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, starring Gwenyth Paltrow and Daniel Craig. Of course it came out in 2003 and I was 13-years-old and had no idea who Sylvia Plath was. My mind has since opened and sucked in powerful worlds of knowledge, and so I latched on to this movie.

Let me tell you, as a writer, it freaking made me want to bawl my eyes out. Partially because I’m scared for my life, as I somewhat understand Plath’s madness, and as I read “The Bell Jar”, it seemed almost like normalcy when Esther descended into madness herself. But the constant word on the tip of your tongue, the constant flickering of imagery and feeling and character inside your brain, this I understand. This, with the undying urge for others to read and understand you, because otherwise you feel so alone, like your thoughts have no place in this world, this I understand. 

Of course I would never feed my children, send them to bed, and then trap myself in the kitchen and suck the gas out of my stove until I died. 

Sometimes it sucks to be a writer. Especially when you are alone. I have people all around me, all day, but they don’t know, truly know, my writing. They don’t know the words that scream in my head. They don’t know that sometimes I’d rather be hanging out with the characters in my head, because at least they get that little corner in my head better than anyone else. Or at least they listen. Sometimes it just really sucks. 

And then there’s Sylvia Plath. She knew it sucked, but there was nothing else on Earth she could do with her life. She was a writer, more than anything else, and that, plus Ted, somewhat, probably, drove her to the stove.

I wonder what my life is going to end up like.

THE ONE THING YOU KNOW FOR SURE THAT YOU HAVE TO DO FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, THE ONLY THING THAT MAKES SENSE, THAT'S THE ONE THING THAT HAS THE POWER TO SCARE THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF YOU.

Honestly, I would love to write for a tv show. Work in Hollywood. Or London. I'd FREAKING DIE to work for BBC. But I think that's kind of impossible, I wonder if they only employ Brits. Does it count that I lived there for a few months?

Probably not.

Wahhhh.

Torchwood is NOT as good.