a few things (there might be existential angst)

[summerskin]

This post deals with some things that might be considered a bit too personal--maybe because they deal with my personal life. Heh.

I was re-reading (kind of) parts of Stephen King's On Writing at work today because there was no working internet connection in any of the offices and I was too lazy to do anything where people could see me being productive.

Anyway.

I like Stephen King's non-fiction writing. It's a style I like to read, almost like a blog post, only published like a book and everything. Heh. My opinion of his fiction work varies from book to book, but this is not the point of this post.

Rather, the point is that there is always something for me to latch onto in S. King's non-fiction. I think he gives very straightforward advice and is a lot more entertaining than most of the stuff on the fiction shelf. Or maybe I just like non-fiction so much more when I just need to relax.

In any case, in this particular section, he kept pointing out that the writer needs to be truthful. Never lie to your readers was the basic advice here. It's taking "write what you know" to the right (haha) level. Then there were the parts about writing 2,000 words of prose a day to improve the writing.

At around that point I stopped reading and opened a new Word document on my work computer. I had no idea what I was going to write, but since I've only been scribbling half-sentences in new documents lately, I thought maybe writing a few scenes from this novel thing I've been working on lately would be beneficial. The ideas for it are still kind of simmering in my mind, but the words are coming harder than I would have thought possible, considering how much I like the characters in this thing.

The reason I like the characters so much is because they are based on my sisters and I, only alternative versions that live in Germany (all the family does here) and battle demons and stuff. You know, paranormal/urban fantasy stuff, because that's what I love to read and write. Only I was writing today and realised why I was having difficulty writing the actual scenes.

OK, no, I lie. I was writing today--that much is true--but I was only half-aware of what I why I wasn't making much headway and everything sounded stilted and frayed at the edge in an unpleasant sort of way.

Then I started doing something else. Actually, it was an outline for this random story idea I had. Ironically, the outline was basically writing itself. I wasn't even looking at the keyboard, and it's--let me tell you--just a little bit scary when that happens. But it was only an outline, so I don't have to worry about it making sense more than just as story notes.

A few minutes ago I was reading something in fandom. It was regarding privilege and the genres of science fiction and fantasy, and how they can help with trying to put forth ideas which are unsettling and disturbing metaphorically speaking--ideas which we refuse to look at because we cannot bear to know another truth than the one we posit ourselves.

The link: http://www.jeffvandermeer.com/2010/08/05/to-comfort-and-disturb/.

I only skimmed it because this other thought--the one I am writing about now--came to mind, and I dropped everything to write about that instead.

The thought is that the reason I am having trouble writing this damn novel I am supposedly working on is because I have a mental block towards everything that goes on, especially the characters. It hits close to home (literally), and somehow I cannot stand it. It's too much most of the time, even when I'm just thinking about it in this abstract, non-pressure sort of way. It's too much to think about because whenever I think about actually finishing it, thoughts of submitting it to an agent pop up.

Those are worthy thoughts, I would say. Everyone dreams of putting their stories forth. I certainly do.

But then the next thought that logically follows is whether it will ever get published. I would like to think the answer would be yes. Going with that train of thought, the next idea that comes to mind concerns how it would be received. But that's entirely into the realm of speculation at this point. No one can tell, but I would always dream it would be The Next Best Thing.

Enough pocket money to buy me Starbucks for the next three months while I finish The Next Next Best Thing would also work. Wink, wink.

Even so, my mind starts going into overdrive, and I start imagining having to tell my close relatives (mother, father, sisters) that I wrote a book that is going to be published. They would want to know the when where what how (why), even if only to make sure I am not making shit up again (apparently, I am prone to doing so at odd times, or all the time depending on whom you ask).

Like with everything in my life--including but not limited to my love of books, my activism, my sexual orientation, and my lack of belief in god-like and supernatural beings--I abhor having to explain that I wrote a book. And that it is fiction. Like, made up stuff. Because then there would be a discussion about what the book contains (never mind that they cannot read in English) and why exactly is it fiction--as in, not real.

As I said, there are some issues with everyone assuming I am either lying, exaggerating, or not being able to separate reality from what goes on in my head. I wish I were making this up, I do.

Along this line is what my mind has been coming up with to mental-block me from writing anything I actually like.

When I started writing the first part of the book (more like the first few pages, because that's about how much I've managed to come up with until now), I was following the events that were popping up in my head. Other parts I was still considering because the ideas felt good, but I didn't know how to lead up to certain things.

Some of these things that I was going to write after considering how to approach them were (in no particular order): a gay sex scene between the main character (inspired by myself) and a woman she meets who might or might not be important to the plot later on; the other main character (a mixture of my sisters, female characters I love, and anything else that is kick-arse) being prone to drinking beer and having sex quite a lot; a confrontation between the two main characters where the latter tacitly acknowledges the former is possibly not wholly straight (I was aiming for subtle and don't-ask-don't-telling leading into a confrontation of some sort); pot-smoking; loads of alcohol; some social critique of Germany, student life, and technology; and various scenes of violence against non-humans by the two main characters using assorted weapons. Oh, and there's also loads of blood kind of everywhere.

There might be more. I forget. I get a mental-block just thinking about it.

Which is kind of the problem.

I am queen of the over-analysers extraordinaire. I get so caught up in what my blood relations would think if they ever read something I wrote that I cannot physically write anything. It happens all the time.

At least with this journal and fandom and any activity I have online I don't have to worry so much because there is a language barrier. And no one asks for explanations when they do not even know you're writing anything at all. Heh.

IDEK.

But this would be the problem. I feel even worse realising what it is. I am so afraid of being judged and assumptions being made and just so terribly scared of having to confront anyone in my immediate family (regardless of my feelings towards them), that I am stopping myself from doing something that I basically love.

The issue is that I am being un-truthful. I am scared to put things down on paper (i.e., screen) because I fear the moment when I have to open the door and let everyone inside my head. This is what this is, in fact. I am opening this huge door inside my head, and I want to hide just thinking about it. It's too much.

But this is the novel I'd like to write. There are all these things that are raw inside me, and this is the only way I can hope to express them.

I don't know. I really don't know.

Anyway. At least identifying the problem is taking me one step closer to solving it. Or something.

On the other hand, I feel like reading something well-written and not contemporary. IDEK.

Gratitude Project. Learn more about it here.

August 11: I am grateful my eyesight is not getting as bad as quickly as it is genetically predisposed to do.