So, I realize that it is absurd to keep popping into this blogspace in order to assure this blogspace (and all 53 people who have viewed it, if they ever return) that I'm NOT DONE WRITING. Nevertheless, here I am, promising myself and the internet that I am most assuredly not done writing. This Summer has simply made me put a pin in it. Between camps and climbing and the ongoing requirement to get outside and revel in Vitamin D. I have allowed myself to stop pushing the word count. I am not (very) lazy, I swear. I actually LOVE working. I know that, because I have spent a decent amount of time aching for it as I have been shuttling between zoos and parks and pools. Yes, I have other goals that are calling me away from writing as well, but in truth it's just the birds singing and the fulfillment of weeding the garden and playing with my kid that has pulled me away from the computer.
I don't feel too bad about closing the laptop for a short while, because I haven't been ignoring the craft at all. In fact, I have been spending a lot of time figuring out just how much I don't know and what I need to start attacking first. I have reread the first 5(ish?) chapters of my book and found my main character boring. In an attempt to keep her from being me, I have successfully made her nobody. I have spent a few hours, on and off, with a legal pad, trying to find out who she is. I have spent more time journaling in my written journal (not enough, but definitely more) alowing myself out, in order to better digest the complexity involved in writing a character. I don't know if it is working, but that is what I have been doing. I am also reading EVERYTHING. I am watching documentaries again and studying people like the wallflower freak that I have always been. Afterall, that is what made me want to write, right? I wanted to understand WHY PEOPLE KEEP DOING THOSE THINGS. I wanted to play with characters that frustrate and confound and relieve and inspire and excite and motivate me. I wanted to give people some authentic truth to look at and question, and rub between their fingers for a while.
In an attempt to conform and be more likeable, I think I forgot that I am 100% weirdo who likes to ask questions and know more and wonder why and stare. I LIKE TO STARE. Somewhere in there I became embarassed by these tendencies that make me feel so remarkably, so strongly me. I started feeling like I needed to be ready in case someone stared back at me. I felt like I had to be just interesting enough, but in a way that did not intimidate anyone. That is not me. I like discomfort and awkwardness and the power that comes with a good long intimidating stare. I am not averted by fear, which is probably why it felt so frustrating and false to pretend otherwise, and why it feels so invigorating to work through and undo all of that bullshit.
I haven't really done this in a long time. I used to blog almost every day, pouring an obnoxious amount of words into the internet, like fuel on an anonymous teen-packed bonfire. Most of it was not great or even good, but it was at least easy to do back then. When did it get so hard to stop thinking when I wrote? When did I trick myself into thinking that everything I did was big-I Important? I think some point in adulthood plateaus into the feeling that there is real power and importance in the things we do, and I definitely believe that there is truth in that, but we settle into the idea that we are powerful and Important because of it. We are still nothing other than the constructs that we rebelled against and exposed in our teen years. Legacies and influence don't really change that fact. Our kids will throw it in our faces one day, and everyone who bought into the idea that age inherently adds meaning will have to stare down the empty shells that they worked so hard to establish. Living in denial also works pretty well for some.
Anyway, if we all just stopped trying to be liked and banding together in a fearful attempt to keep feeling like we matter, then growing older might not have to be such an emotionally painful process. I'm still trying to figure out how to alleviate some of the physical ailments, but at least I can rest in the knowledge that the less I fake it, the happier I am. Maybe then I'll stop hunching so much.
That's it then. Or however I used to end these things. Synopsis: 1, I'm not writing much, but I am alway thinking about it and working towards the next rainy day. 2. I'm done being afraid of getting old and having no fans. I have friends. I don't need an entourage.
P.S. - There are a lot of other things stressing me out right now. Home buying and selling things. Training for a half marathon things. My kid is starting school in 3 weeks and AM I A GOOD PARENT YET? things. But, time is limited, and this blog is supposed to be about writing, or something.
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