Bluer Than Navy

Today I am sad, like a washed out rag. I can’t move the scene. I can’t feel the connection to Ruby. I feel alone. Alone. Alone. I am crippled, in a wheelchair, coughing, hacking. Cough, Cough. Why can’t it come to me? I want to give up. Everyone else has written two or three books. I’m still on Ruby. Ruby. Ruby. Ruby. Maybe I won’t let her go? Maybe she is a cozy corner for me to hide in. I hide in my house like bear in hibernation. Maybe I’m not cut out to write? I think too much, criticize too much. I am dark blue, navy, black and blue. I beat myself up. My stomach is tight. I pace the floor, Eat an egg. Sit in angst. Blue clouds, grey clouds, no sun. This hurts. I hurt. A sponge ready to be tossed in the trash. I’m soaked and old. But I will continue. I will keep writing. But there are so many scenes to write. To connect. How many lives does Ruby have to live? It has to make sense. I will write and not make sense...that is what I have to do...Does anyone else feel this pain? I compare myself like the old ladies at the pool. Who has bigger thighs? I have the fattest head. I’m my own worst enemy...AHHHHHHHHHHH...what will free me? What is this pain I feel? Birthing, birthing, coming to terms with myself and how I write. I’m afraid that is will all fall flat. I can only write from crazy and I don’t care. I don’t care what others think. That feels alive to say that. I channel this story. It isn't about me. It is about Ruby's message. If she is willing to risk then I need to surrender. I don’t care what others think. Wow, that really tightens me in a ball. And also excites me I have to discover the mystery of the tight stomach when I write...the sad stomach and heart. This is the edge of a choice...moving, writing, getting it out, write like a tsunami.