Bleary with it, knows will get to the end and then a massive edit job will be in order. I don’t think I’ll even look back at it for a few months. It says a lot of things, but I really liked this part as it winds down now, has to do with the crux.
I liked to think that I existed inside of dreams, or dreamstime. I wanted there to only be beauty as if beauty could be diaphanous and sheer. I never wanted to think of the harsh things anymore. I was only going to look for the good. I was only going to look for what was real, or could be made real. I had lived a life built on dreams that didn’t come to fruition. I had believed in someone who was a dreamkiller.
* * *
People can kill your dreams if you let them, so I’m telling you not to let that happen. I don’t want you to live a life where that happens.
You can pick up your dream where it left off if you want to. This is always possible. Anybody can. The main thing is to never lose faith in yourself. Never lose your faith in the good, because there is always good in the world if you look hard enough for it.
back later, needs 1500 per day to make it or so — those last two grafs were from this morning…the coffee is on, the fingers nimble. When I wrote Heart of Clouds the finish just rushed in very quickly. This year it’s like that too.
back at 2! Got the words, at 45,732 — has a few days to finish and needs 4,268 to do so. It’s a sad novel about the end of a marriage, but it has hope in it too, which is good. I like it. So, more from today, as it heads into the finish.
That was the year I had to decide how I was going to save myself, if it was possible. I had to gather the full force of my ancestors inside of me when I said aloud, “I can’t do this anymore.”
What I meant was that I couldn’t live without love or without Christmas.
There might come a time when you have to think about your ancestors, too. A time when you will need to gather strength from them, and maybe enough strength so that you can survive.
Nobody knew how close I felt to death in the years when I lost everything. It was the morphine that I had to inject into the living while I watched them die. That was the worst thing. I’m not sure how to get the visions out of my head.
The morphine I had to inject into both of our mothers. I thought I was going to be strong enough but I wasn’t. The way I feel about it now? I need new love in my life like a fresh breeze coming in off the sea. I can’t look at the places where people died anymore.
Your ancestors made you who you are.
Mine made me kind and gracious, and unable to cope with the really hard things. It’s no good to pretend to be someone you aren’t in this life.
My mother brought me up at the edge of the sea, and that is where I learned to dream. “We’re dreamers,” she said. “We come from a long line of Irish dreamers.”
Hopefully I will be able to finish in the next two days. I want to let go of it, now. Am looking forward to the end. I took this picture this morning — the liquidambar trees here, that show the Fall.