Interior Monologue: Yourself

Top of the evening, 

 I got a new book today. 

I've made Barnes & Nobles my unofficial office when I am not at this dresser(which I am writing from as we speak). 

There was a sale on a little book called "Creative Writer's Notebook: 20 Great Authors & 70 Writing Exercises" 

Here's the link if you're interested in some fun and eye opening / hand cramping activities. 

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-creative-writers-notebook-quid-publishing/1121299005?ean=9781435160187

It caught my eye as I was told that the marketing book I was looking for was no longer stocked so I figured fuck it, I'm leaving here with sumn' --> Denzel voice.

The first exercise deals with the aforementioned title of this post. 

Interior Monologue. 

And who do they choose to feature this? None other than James Joyce.

No, he isn't just a cool name for an Irish pub. He actually only lived in Dublin for 20 years and moved abroad, never to return.

He was and still is considered one of the most prolific and influential writers of the 20th century.

The exercise asked me to write an interior monologue using just my stream of consciousness.

Whatever came to mind, just write it, physically, into the book. 

So, here it is. 

Here's my brain on life I guess.

"What kind of man do I aspire to be? What, if any, impact do I want to make on this world? I suppose kindness is a good place to start. For too long, I've lived a life of selfishness and self serving ways. Make me kind, I ask of life. Of God, I ask for the strength and serenity to accept the things I cannot change. My writing is chicken scratch. It is an ugly thing. I've moved to my "desk" and changed pens. 30% improvement. Do I really want to write a book? Am I capable of producing something meaningful and of merit? Of birthing something that would be a genuine contribution to literature as it is? I like to listen to "500 Greatest Film Scores of All Time" as I write. Really anytime I ask the Muse to take me. When Howard Shores work on "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy shuffles into existence, I always light up. Those movies, and books though it has been years since I've grasped them, remind me of simpler times. Of times before money, romantic love, and ambitions. I don't think Mom let me miss a single opening night. Single mom, living with her mom, she'd find a way to plan and afford the evening. THAT is love. A true mothers love is something that can fill a soul as water to a well. I can hear the elves singing again. Angelic. Angels. Demons. Are they in my past or do they foretell my future? Time will tell, whether I like it or not. A renewed kinship with Christ has subsided the famine of my soul. Red Cross? Idk. Okay, what am I thinking about now? Do you remember when you first saw Harry Potter? Or Jurassic Park? Don't you yearn for the childlike wonder again? I find it sometimes in the whisper of the wind or the rustle of the oaks. An expansive lake, rippling in the morning light. A whole other world down there. Maybe we can make our own new worlds each day. I think we chose the world we live in, every day a choice of what's to come and how we respond to it. My handwriting sucks again"

There. Vulnerability. You're welcome.

Sincerely,

Dorian Angelo Santolla