Desiring thunder, I found myself sitting in a friend’s house this weekend writing the story of another soul’s’ past and I was all alone. Well, not completely alone — my furry buddy Ru was there too. In fact I was cat sitting. I enjoy taking care of Ru. He has a passionate disposition — he loves to cuddle and follow me around but when he is mad, he lets me know. Together we sat at the dining table listening to the rain showering the left-side porch. When suddenly Ru was overcome with the need for classic feline seclusion and left me alone to fend for myself against the several drafts of my short story. Each draft with pencil and purple pen markings — each highlighting an area of *needs attention* or *fix immediately* — gawked back at me as I decided my next move. My stories have the tendency to mock me and all my efforts to feel accomplished.
Sitting alone with my feet bare (I like when my toes feel icy) and dangling from the chair, I wondered why is it that this story is so difficult for me to write. I am actually in the polishing stage. Yet, the more I polish the further I back peddle in my effort to finish the story. It’s not that I don’t like writing it. It’s actually one of my favorites so far, however I find it very difficult to finish. And what makes it even more unnerving is that my English professor from a previous semester whom has seen the story wants the latest revised/reworked version so that he can use it to teach his students about short story writing. He says that he is going to assign his students to write a paper about my story. I was stunned when he told me. It’s thrilling and my heart swells with pride for such an honor to be bestowed upon me and my work, but it definitely puts the pressure on EXTRA HEAVY to create a masterpiece, that the students wont shred to pieces.
It’s a story about a cowboy (a classy man) and his family who suffer through life’s quintessential afflictions to the body, mind and soul. I suppose it’s such an intricate and fatiguing process for me to write it because, its too personal and intimate and just the same it is too ancient and distant for me to fully grasp what it is that I am even trying to write. Ha! My paramour — my need to create literature/art — forsakes me sometimes. It slaps me around, crushes my feelings, disorients my mind and above all makes me happy.
After an hour or so of satisfied concealment, Ru appeared again and just in time too. I had just collided with the self-realization that my instincts about the story were flipped upside down and inside out. And with no one to coddle me and tell me that I would eventually figure it out, I was about to give up and stash my various devious drafts back into the manila folder I have designated for this specific story and shut down my computer and possibly slink myself away towards the t.v. or better yet to the seclusion of the bed so I could wrap myself up in my comforter (I always bring my own bedding when I house sit and towels too– its too intimate of a thing for me not to) Either way Ru had probably sensed my insecurities from his hiding place and had been watching me from the hallway — who knows for how long. Eyes glimmering and fur rustled, he sauntered towards the table and jumped up. Taking his time to sip some water and nibble on cat treats I had laid out for him earlier I could feel that he was a bit vexed with me. That’s when he strode towards me and began to caress his face against my computer. I smirked and he stared me down. I knew what he thought. He wanted to know why I hadn’t finished working. He knew that I had set a deadline to finish the piece and I was nowhere near thinking about finishing. I was about to explain myself to him, when clarity struck!!
I broke away from his secretive stare and began to type. I kept on typing for two more hours till my boyfriend called and broke my concentration — Its okay, I needed a break anyways. Ru looked at me almost satisfied and then dropped down to the floor and away he disappeared into the bedroom to bathe himself.
I love GATO’S, they always calm my nerves and if I’m paying attention they usually murmur into my fingers, shoulders and ears secrets of the universe. Afterwards, we lounged around sipping iced tea together. He ensnared his fangs into my mane whispering adventurous stories from his past. Sitting up, he braided my hair weaving in beautiful poetry that my skull soaked up.
Now if only I could finish my story 😉