I was going to start by saying that winter is almost upon us in Wyoming, but it’d be a bald faced lie.
The snow has been yo-yoing worse than a cheap whore lately and it’s hard to plan for weather that can’t decide what the fuck it’s doing, but welcome to the West. It feels strange that we’ve already been living here for nearly three months.
I’ve applied for some hours at an equestrian centre that I’m hoping to hear from this week, and I really hope I can get some barn chore hours during the weekend. I’m made for tough graft not so much office lazing, I detest being kept inside and staring a screen for 80% of my week. Unfortunately I had to give up my little job at the antique place because I won’t be around in the holiday season and I can’t really be depended to work every weekend where I have to interact with people professionally. A horse place I can handle, because I figure they’ll be more like me here… with any luck. Its not a huge loss because it wasn’t supposed to be a long term thing, i only wanted a bit of income until i found something full time.
I’ve also been spending a lot of time working on my novel that I was supposed to try and finish this year, but I ended up falling a little behind. Right now I’m scouting around for possible literary agents that might enjoy my work but that’s slightly tedious as I know what I write is very good, but I don’t know that an agent will but I suppose we’ll see what it brings. I realize I’ll be facing a shite tone of rejections and it can take years before books get published, but all the more time to improve I suppose. Lately I’ve just been feeling the inspiration I was been lacking in New England so my fingers are truly growing numb with considering how much write (hand write + type) when I should be working. I do my job but when there’s nothing else on my agenda I will write. Some days, much like today, I had nothing to do and wrote from 8am till around 4.30pm or whenever I’ll finish revising this blog draft. And realized something, something it’s taken years for me to realize. I am born to tell stories; whether it is on stage with an audience or whether it is through poetry and prose. It doesn’t matter. I have often imagined the life of a writer and what it’s like. The more I write and force myself to make time for it the more I realize that that’s for the life of me. I can be anywhere in the world and I can tell a story. Every day around 8:30am I do my writing exercise and each becomes a beautiful little prose of unimpeded emotion that needed to be filtered from my heart in order to make more progress with the main works. I’ve actually been toying with the idea of creating a little book of all my small exercise pieces, however as you can imagine I have many ideas in the works as I always am apt and so nothing will probably become of any. That’s fine, at least I bled to try.
I don’t know what the future will bring, and I don’t know that right now that’s so very important to me – what’s important is what we’re doing now. Planning trips to deadwood, guest ranches, Denmark and planning weekends at home with pizza, historical documentaries and picture editing. Don’t get me wrong I have an outline of things I’d like to do. Hopefully I’ll be taking a class at the University and in the spring I’ll be applying to attend the school of horseshoeing in Cheyenne. I genuinely hope this can come to fruition but it depends a lot on saving up the funds in time. I don’t even know that I’ll be good at it, but I want to give it a try as I’ve done everything else that interested me up till now. So I’m not about to stop learning and doing new things. Besides I’m still holding on to that dream of my own farm with a horse shoeing station in the barn and a view of Nevada or Texas or even Wyoming outside the rolling door. Its right there next to the tall ship dream but whichever one comes is more than welcome, but for right now I’m living the cowboy life and it mostly feels like a dream.
I think for now that’s enough from me.