A blog in 5 minutes.

What kind of self-absorption does it take to be a writer? I takes a bunch of it to be sure. Wondering as I finally watched Julie/Julia all the way through. Her crisis when her husband declares himself fed up with her self-absorption. Of course these moments of trusted friends, family and lovers abandoning us at pivotal moments in our creation of something very much larger than ourselves is neither new nor unique. Sometimes they come back to us and sometimes they don’t. But I think the act of creation of a thing of size draws from all in our lives, through us. It is easy for them to interpret it as selfishness as everything gets swept up into the vortex. But I wonder if it really is. After all we are on this path through the belief and encouragement and positive feedback of others. Did they really think it wasn’t going to hurt?

In my defence

Alright people. I do actually have more than one track to this mind you know and for those of you who’ve called and emailed in your salacious comments on what you think you know about my intentions with young Wicked – shame on you. (By the way, salacious is the word of the day) Especially for not having the courage to post your comments but rather contacting me directly in the hopes of sucking out some juicy tidbit hitherto unposted. Sorry, you can suck away don’t’ blame me if you turn into a big giant blueberry and need to get juiced.

While I admit that my inability to let an opportunity for a ribald jape and my penchant for misdirection may have something to with your stray thoughts into the sexual zone, the truth is I’m afraid of the truth and if I write it down then it is a truth that I have to face. And Wicked, if he is man enough (and I think he his) has to face it too.

So here it is. Reasons it didn’t go down in writing before are, first, I thought it sounded a bit hokey at the time. Second, I didn’t want to freak Wicked (or myself) out. Because it isn’t a small thing, it is a big scary messy everything.

What I want from Wicked, is for him to be brilliant. He has it in him to be, he knows it and I know it. He could have a career like DiCaprio or Phoenix or Crowe – he could. Don’t know about him but that scares me spit less. For myself, why I want him to be brilliant and why I want to be a breath that fans that spark into a blaze is that if he is brilliant then I have permission to be brilliant too.

Okay, I can hear the clamour already and I haven’t even posted this yet. The more militant of my fan club are shaking their heads and shaking their fingers. “What does she mean permission to be brilliant? She is brilliant! She don’t need no frackin’ permission.” But this blog is not about life in your head, it’s about Life in My Head and it isn’t about writer’s in general or the writer down the street or the writer across the pond, it is about this writer. This writer who was raised to be a good girl and a kind girl and a hard-working girl -- things not always compatible with artistic brilliance.

And I don’t need permission to be brilliant from you or my critics, my colleagues or my family – I need it from myself.

So there, I guess that answers my earlier question about why he picked me and I picked him. Also why we scare the shit out of each other. Fasten your seatbelts kids, we’re in for a bumpy night.