In Edits

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Cara Michaels may want my head on a platter for not updating my #WIP500 lately, but honestly, I can't really do it.  No, not can't.  I won't.

Why?  Because I have three pieces that have not been edited as much as I like.  So I'm reworking, rewriting, and keeping track of the new word count (which, yes, I will use, because it is technically still a WIP500), but my word count is... tiny.  Minuscule.

This is why I hate editing.  I feel like I need to be working on The Unanswerable or Kingdom of Obession, not bumming around in the first chapters of Rioss and piddling over my word choices.  I feel like Rioss and Soul Therapy and Ruhe already took so much of my precious time, that I really want to move onto the next shiny new object.

But shame on me.  Because I know for a fact that I sometimes call "Marc" "March" because of the numerous typos throughout Rioss.  And I know that Jessica goes on way too many internal ramblings without enough action/responses in Soul Therapy.  And Ruhe just needs to be longer, the scenes need to have more tension in them.  So here's my wrist slap.  Stay with it, stick with it, and edit it. 

Editing just feels so much like work.  But something that makes it easier?  I got new vinyl from M83, including Saturdays = Youth and Before the Dawn Heals Us (consequently, these are the first vinyls I have ever owned).  Which, for people that don't know me - M83 is my favorite band to zone out to.  It makes doing things that I don't like much more pleasant.  Each week, I am going to attempt to complete at least three hours to editing. 

And last night, I spent an hour curled up on the couch with two cats on each side of me, sipping on wine, listening to M83, and pouring over words.  Wasn't a bad set up, but I still forgot to submit my new word count to Cara Michaels (shame on me).

Shifting Sands

Melting into swirls

The hot sun pressed us

Into the sand, drifting,

Nothing ever shifts

More than the footprints

Buried, neck deep

Swallowing salty air

Lungs dried and settled

Rusty, lengthy gasps

Ruined memories of dust

Nothing ever shifts

More than the light

Day to night, we end

Fighting to pretend

That footprints never change

Turn away and walk

Down the alleys of dark

Hide in the shadows

Drown on the sorrows

Kneel before what used to be

Ruined memories of dust

Nothing ever shifts

More than the footprints

Left in the old sand

That no longer reaches my heart 

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There was once a time in my life where I would do anything for anyone.  I would stand up and fight for them even if they stabbed me in the back.  For me, it usually takes three backstabs and then I drop you (unless, of course, we are playing TF2, in which case, if you backstab me, I will hunt you down and kill you just the same - but that's a video game, not real life).

My friendship is like some horrible baseball game.  Strike one, okay, forgiven, just get it right the next time.  Strike two, okay - maybe I shouldn't have taken you back so easily, maybe I should have given us more time to reflect, but I still love you just the same.  Strike three - out.  Out of my life, out of my heart, forever.  I'll take the memories and crumple them up and burn them in the next bonfire I attend.  Little pieces of paper that hold all the thoughts of you and me together tossed away in an instant. 

Recently, I felt something shift in me.  It's no longer three strikes.  It's not even two.  It's one.

I'm still processing how I feel about this shift.  Maybe someday I can talk about the situation more candidly.  While I have been "mourning" what used to be and how that will never be the same again, a part of me feels free somehow.  My whole life, I allowed people to stab me three times before showing them the door.  And now, I have the strength, the disconnect, whatever you want to call it, to let go. 

People change.  The way you feel about them changes too.  And sometimes I hate it, that the impressions someone makes on your heart can never be the same again.  Someone once said to me, "You can never go back."  Tears threatened my eyes and I refused to believe it was true.  No, I told myself, my friends that I had just left behind in Boston would never change.  We would always be friends.

This is the first instance where I realized how true that statement is.  While I still have good memories, I can never live in those memories again.  I cannot curl up in the comfort of a sing-a-long by the bonfire because those memories are false.  They are real, as real as ever, but they will never happen again.  You can never go back, but that's why here and now is so important.  You need to continue forward, head up high, knowing that people changed you and that you changed them.  Maybe you can never go back to the night that you spent staring at the stars, but you can get the stars today.  You know you were happy then, and you know you are happy now, and you can wish them the same.

But you can never go back.  And now that I think about it - I've changed too much to want to go back.

I still love my memories.  I still love the people in them.  But that's all they are - precious memories.