Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked

“It  happens like this…” – The first page of Diary of An Awkward Girl 2 (Definitely not the title of it)

PicMonkey Collage

I could people watch for hours. I had this project once, where we stood on the corner of a busy intersection and listened in on people’s conversations and had to create a dialogue based off of that one sentence that stood out to you. Today getting off the streetcar, I overheard a Father teaching his son about Religion, but the right way. He said, “Son if you profess an unconditional love towards something you believe in, it will all come full circle. Always be patient with whatever you believe in, especially if you don’t get what you ask for.”

Proving yet again that human beings are far from ordinary. Every individual that passes has their own aftertaste, something that still burns in the back of their throat. As much as that may tug at the heartstrings, it’s the most interesting notion about us.

When I decided to write a novel at 16, I thought I had the story. But it only develops into something more complex and informative as you get older. You walk by store top apartments, and someone could be in there dancing to Like or Like Like by Minature Tigers after a long day. We’re given 7 days a week, and each day could be something so completely different from the other. You blink, and you’re sitting on your bedroom floor eating Multigrain Cheerios and flipping through magazines. You blink and you’re sitting in a room with a brilliant group of individuals, and trying to figure out their stories. You blink and blink, flipping the channel over and over again, until you get something right in front of you that you don’t expect. But then you blink and it’s gone again. Channel changes.

It may seem sometimes that all we do is sleep, wake up, go on with our routine, head home, and repeat. But it’s much more than that. It’s like walking on a tightrope, and being afraid of the consequences of missing a step. Remember when we were children and we’d walk along a beam of some sort, and we’d pretend the floor was lava so we’d walk along that same line and hold on for dear life, it’s something like that. But I guarantee you that every day is a lot different from the next. This is about to sound pretty lame, but I’m proud of it. Just as I step out of my front door, I play Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros and start my day. Or Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John.

Everything we do is a part of a story that will eventually get told. Right now, a new friend of mine is reading my book and it’s exciting because it’s just a story to those who don’t personally know me yet. It’s a piece of fiction that people can escape to. While all the contents from my wallet spill onto the floor in a Starbucks (I have so much pocket change it’s ridiculous) (bus fare hustle), she was reading my novel in another Starbucks.

**side note, I love new coffee shops but sometimes I rush to work decaffeinated and there’s a Starbucks conveniently on every corner. 

Some days you cover some new distance, and other days you take a few steps back. None of this is insignificant. You can think about it, deal with it in the moment and decide which direction you choose to go in. Or you can devise your own concept of a brief distraction to which you’re no longer subject to these things. Selective momentary memory less. All the kids are asking for it this Christmas.

My last thought was brought to my attention earlier last week when I was binge watching Adele interviews. She said that in order for her to feel confidence within her work, it has to move her. When a new writer came to me this week to join this lovely family, and asked what content I was looking for. I told her that I wanted her to put the pieces out there that would make her bones shake of excitement the moment I click publish. I wanted her to rebel with her words. I can’t wait for you all to meet her this week.

But I hope it’s nice where you are
I hope the sunshines
and it’s a beautiful day,


Copyright © 2015 Daniella Beca MyCompositionNotebook


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