Sunday, November 1, 2009
I'd love to pack your breakfast and wash your clothes
So, it’s November 1 and everybody are starting National Writing Month challenge. Except for me. And I am insanely jealous. I really miss writing, but I can’t do it, don’t have time for it. “Sorry, Bob, but I am with John now”. I have cards to print, logos to draw, a site to build and a store to run. I am not a writer anymore, I moved on. And, of course, my stupid nature longs to something that I don’t have and takes for granted everything that is here. When people ask me “What is your favourite season?” I honestly say “The next one”. Last year I was so happy to give up writing (seriously: dead end, can’ do it on foreign language and can’t do it in Russia), and now I feel like all my unrealised projects eating me from inside, (repeating Andrei Voznesensky’s: “We are burying poems – to Kharon!). I can’t believe I gave it up: three well-developed, researched stories, the whole crowd of characters, who can’t stop talking and feeling, and that warm sense of accomplishment when you are done. It’s such an annoying eager to get back to work, but the work is gone. Probably it’s as bad as sending your youngest child to college.