Monday, October 25, 2010

musings: the life i want

I have been very busy of late, probably over-busy based on how hard it is to stay asleep and how much difficulty I'm having just sitting down to read the books I need to read. But I'm starting to figure out more of what I want out of life.

For one, first and foremost, I've discovered that I don't care if I have to have arm surgery later on: writing is definitely all I want to do. I mean, I want to eke out time to craft and make and redecorate, I want to have the money to travel and see new things and not get left behind when friends invite me places because I just can't afford them, but I want it all to be because I'm writing. I made a list the other day of all the books I have lined up in my head, waiting to be written. There were twelve just off the top of my head, and that's not even counting sequels and half-thought-out probably-novels, or Wolfe and Raven which informed me that now it wants to be a webseries (10 x 6 minute episodes, probably four seasons).

I want a house somewhere with weather I like and enough land to plant several gardens where roses will grow. And cannas. And lillies. And lilacs. And a big ol' victorian-style greenhouse where I can grow oranges and lemons and let them out into the sun in the summer like they do in Italian Villas. I want a house I can stay in, where I can plant my poor sickly pine tree in the ground and know that I'll still be living there so he can thrive. Where I can have / get kids and plant a tree for each of them, too, and start a forest dedicated to my family.

I want to decorate from Ikea and Urban Outfitters, yes, but I also want to find beautiful antiques that people don't know the value of-- a velvet fainting couch, a canopied bed (especially if it's a Chinese wedding bed!), an old wash-basin stand. I want to gather trinkets and art pieces from everywhere I've been and display them properly. I want a house full of color and eclectic wonderfulness. My sister once described my bedroom as a treasure-box, said there was always something more to look at; I want a whole house like that.

I'm not terribly picky about who lives in the house with me. I don't necessarily need a husband, and even if I get one, he would have to be very special for me to want to live with him. I'm getting far too indipendent and unusual in my advancing age.

I think I want a writing cottage. I want my books and my desk and my working computer to be somewhere separated from the house, a little beautiful thing that's only for me, where I can hole up when deadlines are tight and I need the separation from distractions.

I think I want to dance. And I want space to dance in. I might even want an audience. I definitely want classes.

I want to never have to learn how to drive. Which means I want a big-girl bike that can get my longer distances with a lot less trouble and uncertainty. I love my baby-bike, but it's just too slow and too rickety for the long haul.

I want to carry my babies on my back and plant my own food and live somewhere where the cats can go in and out as they please without having to worry about cars and dogs and diseases. I want to make my own furniture and do it well and love doing it. I want to publish more than one book a year, every year, until I die or I go mad, and even then still have seven or ten or twenty books written and waiting, started, planned out, that others can finish and publish. I want my house to always be surrounded by nature and full of people I love, talented, opinionated, beautiful, glamourous, wonderful people who laugh and cook and drink wine and home-made ales. I want to raise kids in that atmosphere. I want to change the world just a little bit. I want to be famous enough to never have to be poor again. I want to give back to the community with a scholarship and maybe some community funding, like a garden project or something. I want to start a school and save a publisher and edit anthologies. I want to visit friends who live far away, and maybe sometimes live far away myself, but always have this one beautiful house to come home to.

And you know what? Sometimes, I feel like I'm getting there.

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