Dec. 23rd, 2011

muir_wolf: (Default)
There's a writing commune in my head.

There's a stretch of homes, and there's thick green grass. It's a little like the Shire, in my mind. There's apple trees, and a vegetable garden. Some people sit outside on benches and knit, and some go down to the lake and swim, and there are tall trees to climb and a horizon you can see. Conversations pick up halfway through, and you can talk characterization and verb tenses and the way words have torn your heart open. You can linger on vowels and stretch out syllables in the night air, and when you lie awake at three a.m. there is always someone else to talk to.

There are tents outside, if you want to be alone, and impromptu blanket forts and slumber parties in living rooms if you want company.

There is always someone to proofread what you've written. There is always someone to tell you to stop procrastinating.

When the country air feels stifling, you can take your car and steal a friend and drive to the city; you can stand amongst tall buildings until you can feel your heart slow, and soak in a Starbucks coffee - you can stay away for hours or days or longer. You always return.

You can spend your day online, until someone drags you to dinner and reminds you to eat, and then leaves all the dishes for you, because honestly, it was your turn to do them at lunch, and just because you were reading a fic doesn't mean you get to get out of everything.

Sometimes there's drabble parties down by the water, with the people that prefer to stay dry volunteering to write down the collective scraps of shouted words. Very rarely does something beautiful arrive from these parties (although it has happened), but afterwards pen finds paper easier, and often with a smile.

There's far too many movies and dvds and books, collectively, and you're always missing at least three things, and going door to door demanding it be returned. Sometimes you wonder why you're here, and then, after you've locked yourself in your car and driven down the road to cool down, a laughing group of gorgeous people arrive with cookies and wine and promises to write you fic, and you follow them because they make you better than you are and like you more than you deserve, because you're happier than maybe you've ever been, and because you love them dearly, each and every awful one of them.

January 2015


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