Imaginary Lives/Week 1

I've begun a new journey which is an extension of the one I took back in June when I went to Santa Fe. I've been reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. It's a book that fuses the 12-step program for recovering addicts and a spiritual journey to recover your lost sense of worth and creativity. It's a 12-week course in which each morning you must dedicate time to writing three, long-hand, pages of stream-of-consciousness writing. It's a bit like Natalie Goldberg's ten-minute writing practices in which you pick a topic and then blitzkrieg writing on it for ten minutes. Both are fabulous techniques. And in fact Julia Cameron sites Natalie Goldberg's
Writing Down the Bones as a must read in the Appendix of her book. It's amazing that I've had Natalie's book, I studied with her this summer, and when I came back and finally dusted off my other creativity inspirational books I find her name in many other writer's reading lists. It's all synchronicity.

Okay, in week one of TAW, there is a task called imaginary lives. If you had five other lives to lead what would they be? Here is number 1: Actress

I want to be a villainess on a Mexican soap opera. I watch all those novelas every night and I have to admit that the evil woman who wrecks havoc throughout the entire story line is gorgeously bad. I mean vile. She gets to sleep with all the leading men. She tricks them into doing whatever she wants, she's beautiful beyond words, deadly in every thing she does, and is not above using every dirty trick in the book to get her way. She doesn't shy away from murder and mayhem. I want to be that persona so I can be evil for just a little while, but know deep in my heart that it's all pretending. I want to be revered and feared at the same time. Loved and loathed. Vilefied and deified. My name will burn on the lips and in the hearts of all people who meet me and yet I know that my regin of terror will one day come to an end. And then I can step out of those satan-on-heeled shoes and become me again. I want my face plastered on magazine covers, followed my paparazzi, and catered to at my every whim. I want to walk the razor's edge of life in the fast lane but maintain my well of goodness. Is that possible? Acting is all fantasy all the time. I want to act out my fantasies. And my biggest fantasy of all time is to be the world's most reviled bitch, but one who never-the-less commands the respect of all who cross my path. Why do I want to be such a bitch? Perhaps to make up for all the times I wussed out and was run over like roadkill on the side of the highway of life. At least bitches get to speak their minds before they get their comeuppances.

I suppose I could speak my mind too. But it's more fun to write about it. I'll be a bitch with words. Actually I am that already. Let's call a spade a spade shall we? In my private journals I rip to shreds those that have hurt me though I would never dare to tell them to their faces. OOOOOH, now I see the purpose of the exercises. Dig deep and see what's there. It's what I was taught at the writer's conference. I was hurt in the past. Now all I want to do is hurt back, twice as hard, all those who ever hurt me. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Now I see why my heart has turned to ice. And how do I melt it? And who will be strong enough to still be standing when all the melt-water floods the terrain?

I don't really want to be an actress. Because in a way I've been acting my whole life. I've been pretending that everything is fine instead of voicing my true opinions when something was bothering me. Everything is not fine right now. I have no job. I am still alone. And I still hurt. Okay, now that it's out in the open I am going to work on making it better.