D with a Y
Much of today had been in between sleeping and waking, in the dreams that transpire throughout. I woke up from a particularly disturbing one in the morning that I don't quite feel like documenting in detail, but the bright side is that it fueled me with something I needed to complete a story. In my time awake I focused on chores to escape the memory of the dream and the fact that I didn't sleep well. The universe, or whatever it is out there, made it up to me. I slept again and had another dream in which almost a complete story plot was handed to me.
There has been one story that's consuming me lately. I've been trying not to resist my muse so whatever story she wants to run with, then I run with that as well. Although the story is going to be written in first person from a young woman's point of view, what I have been focusing lately on seeing another character through her eyes. New music I come across, I imagine him listening to it. A new art form I see, I imagine him working with it. I imagine myself watching him, listening to him, and then I give whatever emotional reaction I experience to the main character. It's become a habit over the past few days that thinking of him actually brought me comfort; as if I were hanging out with a friend I liked, a friend I longed to be with. Last night I even humored the idea of being in love with him.
That’s very beneficial for the writing process. After all, how can I transmit the right emotions to the reader if I don't feel them myself and so on? Though, quite honestly, I count less on the spontaneity and expression and give more value to skill, which might be my downfall, now that I think about it. Truthfully, though, I'm just glad this kind of innocence in art still exists in me, to be fueled emotionally first. It reassures me I haven’t gone cold in relying on intellectualism and methodology. It reassures me it's okay to create for me as well.