I'm reading this. I've been rocking out two or three books every week for the past couple of months. I figured that the best way to see what's worked in the past as far as story telling and writing is concerned is to emerse myself in the works of others. I haven't done any writing that I would consider a step toward attaining my goal of Storyteller Extraordinaire in many moons. Just recently started this blog, but none of this means anything to me. I ramble on about personal issues with just enough vagueness to make sure that no one knows what the hell I'm talking about unless they happen to be me. Not really an effective way to draw in your reader, verdad?
Soon to come on this blog will be my own fiction. My words telling stories that I can't excise from my brain. I just play them on repeat, constantly changing events and characters in this story, and nothing of value has been completed. Over the summer I rocked out about 75 pages of writing that I think will either be scrapped altogether or greatly shortened and abused when the editing process comes about. We'll see.
Vonnegut said in Timequake that there are two types of authors: one whose name I can't remember and bashers. Bashers write word by word, making sure they have it perfect the first time. Constantly editing and re-editing even before the work is completed. This is how I feel. He also said that all male writers have attractive wives. I like that concept. I definitely agree with it. Looking back on my past relationships, I've done far better for myself than my physical looks would have given credit for. I don't consider myself a handsome man, but I know I have my moments and my nice features. Off topic, but in any case, all those exes, they'd make a wonderful calendar spread of the female form. We'll just call it, "Yup, I did."
Reed Farrell Coleman is a mystery fiction writer. He came to speak to my Creative Writing class once and dropped a bomb. He said, "As a writer, he feels a horrible disconnect from the world, as though he's a miniature version of himself, sitting on his shoulders and peering out at the world." So, in that sense, then is he saying that an author has a more difficult time connecting with the outside world. That statement has haunted me for months now.
Because it's how I've felt my whole life. It makes me feel like a liar or a fraud, like I'm just floating through life telling everyone what they want to hear and showing them that I can be the person they want, etc. How often do I lie? I would say only when someone else's feelings are concerned and I consider that I wouldn't want to be hurting said feelings. Unless I hate you. We're just not speaking at that point. If I give you the courtesy of actually speaking with you, chances are I think you're pretty fucking awesome. May sound a little self-obsessed, and I won't deny that, but WE ALL ARE. I understand the need to make connections throughout our life, that it's the normal state of things, but the fact of the matter is that no one really can get into someone else's mind and experience life the way they do. We may talk and laugh and share our jokes, but at the end of the day, I'm alone only with my thoughts even whilst laying next to the one I love. It is the Human Condition, I believe, to strive toward attaining these connections, but knowing deep down that no matter how many friends you have or people you're friendly with, when you go home at night, when you step outside for some fresh air, you are alone. All concerned about our own experiences and our bank accounts and where dinner's going to be coming from. I strive to be alone together with some people. We all see the world differently, and that's the difficult aspect of writing for an audience. I don't know how you think. Shall I just cram my thought processes down your throat?
Probably.
I recently broke up with a friend. I use the term 'friend' loosely. He was/is/will always be a douche. It's part of his geneology. We shared some decent times. We did drugs together, hung out, argued a lot. I felt like a different person whenever he was around. He fancies himself Barney from How I Met Your Mother. If I were Jason Segel or whateverthefuckhisnameis who plays Ted Mosby, I woulda cut those ties long ago. It feels good, like some 200-some-odd lb. weight has been dropped from my shoulders. His arogance may have been mitigated if only he had some accomplishments in life that weren't displayed on Xbox Live. Greasy fuck. He took a public speaking course, and I believe that was just about the downfall of our friendship. Everything became a debate after that. And then when you say, "I don't feel like arguing about this." He would counter that statement by arguing that he wasn't arguing. I may not have been in many fights in my life, but there's just some people you know that just deserve a memorable thrashing. They need to feel the hot sting of tears mixing with blood. Their own. Feel the cold concrete and hear my footsteps march away. Enjoy your life, I'm no longer part of it.
Now, isn't having friends fun?! Sweet jesus, don't ever let me become that dilluted that I need the company of such an arrogant sociopath.
The point I was trying to make? Oh, right.
We are all just a little bit like this annoying friend of mine. The only good thing is that there's common decency, of which I am not lacking. I enjoy hearing about everyone else's day and their experiences. I don't feel the need to "one-up" them at every turn-- constantly perpetuating the "I'm better than you" feelings that bounce around in my delusional skull. The last thing he said to me was that "we'd eventually run into one and other. That no matter whether or not I had decided that I didn't want to speak to him anymore that we'd still see each other on the regular." I've seen him once at a party he wasn't invited to, and barely made eye contact with him, let alone respond when he came shuffling up, patted me on the arm and said "What's up?". I walked out of the party and didn't look back.
The last thing I said to him in response to his last message was this: No, you won't. That's the point.
And I feel liberated.
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