I'm firmly convinced that anyone who does a poor cover of a John Lennon song should be put to death on the spot.

Sadness.

Humanity exacerbates my lack of patience far too often.

Day Seventeen Nanowrimo '08

Week three, ideally things are downhill from this point, however idealism only stretches so far when you have a deadline beating on your head and a word count that STILL is not as high as it needs to be.

So the battle plan for this week is to impose myself on my best friend and live in his kitchen so I can stay away from any distractions and get my word count over 30k by this Wednesday. Thankfully the word count I do have will only mean that I need about fourteen thousand wordsish (does that word form/tense even exist?) and assuming I don't loose my mind or am kicked out I will make this goal.

The plot is there, I just need to find it. Possibly by beating my muse with a burlap sack full of door knobs...but uh...we'll see about that...

To me some of the absolute sweetest moments of my life can be found in my childhood in the 16-bit and 32-bit era dream machines called the Super Nintendo Entertainment System and the Sony Playstation.



I was originally told I could be anything I wanted to be, then I was made fun of for what I wanted to be. Made to feel shame for just enjoying what I enjoyed in life...reading books and playing video games...but they were both so much more to me. They were escapism from a childhood that at times borderlined on absolute insanity.

The details are trivial and somewhat useless because I did survive childhood mostly intact but I did loose a few things I once held precious...the ability to try and fail, the ability to simply do,

Day 14

Rather then try to come up with some fancy metaphor for my writing I'll just come out and say the word count is a bitter but sweet struggle. Even though I'm struggling with feelings of inadequacy and despair, there are still these bursts of creativity that remind me that this novel idea isn't as stupid as I may think it is, in my weaker moments that is.

Although part of me wants to make a career out of writing, the reason I write is for my own sake. There is an almost redemptive element I can find in NANOWRIMO, The ability to loose myself in the creative process and know that no matter how poorly received my ideas are they are still my ideas and no one can ever strip me of them.

So yeah, writing isn't any much easier than yesterday but I suppose the difference is that if I push myself hard over the next couple of days I can hit 25k and then be on the downhill side of this novel and also the fact is that no matter what happens this is the best way I could have spent my November.

Boy do I feel like crap. Oh well.

Again I must ask...why am I here? Why am I even here? What is the point?


Seriously?

Day 13

Day 13

You know honesty sucks, a lot.

If I was to be honest I am having a lot of trouble with writing and just between you and me, I honestly think I should stop writing.

I am not a writer, I cannot write, I am a terrible writer, I have no talent, no skill and have no idea just what is going on.

I'm staring at a large black hole that is currently sucking all of the hope concerning my writing away. Oh, there went my dignity too. Oh well.

The theme song for this novel has been 'Creep' by Radiohead. I keep asking myself "Why am I here?" and "What am I doing this?"

I have no talent at writing. I suck at this. I profoundly suck at writing and have no right to even try to flirt with the possible idea of me being a writer. I suck so bad that if there was such thing as a death penalty for horrible writing I would gladly walk up to the chopping block so I could have the agony of how terrible of a writer I am end. Promptly.

All the same I'm not giving up. I am not exactly sure what sort of hope I am clinging to as this point but I have always had trouble knowing when and how to quit. So at the very least if I'm going to die I'll die with a horrible manuscript in my hand.

I feel sick. Not 'so' sick I suppose, because that would imply this is some deep and new form of illness which has not been seen before...however I do feel sick, ill perhaps. But that doesn't begin to match up with the level of anxiety and stress I feel at being here, knowing I will soon not be able to return, knowing there is no home.

You know?

If David Bowie was any more awesome I think hearing his music would cause me to burst into flames.

Day 12

"Show me don't tell me."

One of the single most helpful tidbits of writing advice I have ever been given. If I remember correctly this was gleaned from Stephen King's book on writing, which was quite shrewdly called "On Writing".

We have all read works of fiction which read as a 'Tell Me' work. "So and so did this and then they did that and ran over there", I personally find that sort of writing a bit dry, it is almost like reading a plot summary rather than an actual story.

Besides being a pet peeve I try to avoid, by actually 'Showing' the reader what is going on instead of simply 'Telling' them you get to delve deeper into the story while increasing that ever vital word count...or at least this is what I am telling myself as I try not to think about how behind I still am in word count.

Day 11

Something about killing new characters with a huge explosion because of frustration about where they are not going yet.



** ** ** **


What do you do with new characters?

To be more specific, what do I do with those new characters that have become nothing but problems?

In order to fix the problem of a plot that has hit a few hiccups, I decided to introduce a few new characters. Honestly I do not know if this has helped because I have the sudden urge to have all of the new people tied up and placed in a room with a very large explosive device.

Taking some time to think about this a mass explosion may not actually fix the problem. My other solution would be to let them run wild and see what exactly it is they want to do...I mean worse case I can always use the backspace button, right?

So I guess this just means wait and see, maybe letting them run about could be the best thing for my story. Who knows?

11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month...at least according to my watch

Ah...I had almost forgotten the feeling of my insides being on fire...the balance of life has been restored...

If I was anymore cynical I think I might cause some people's heads to explode.

That actually sounds like a cool super power...

Day 10 - Noveling

Day 10

The past few days have been odd and sadly unproductive writing wise. Friday my doctor put me on a new medicine and so far the only effect I've felt from the medicine is extreme drowsiness. Which obviously would make accomplishing my every day life difficult, much less the writing aspect.

I'm forgoing as much human contact as possible today and cutting this short so I can hopefully bring my woefully low word count into the lower ten thousands today.

Here is to coffee, writing and medicine that makes your head feel funny! Hooray!

I suppose this is all the drama of the moment but I really have no clue what I'm doing.

Why am I even trying to write? I feel like such an abysmal failure and that there is no sincere reason for me to write about something so stupid and pointless.

Bah.

Having difficulty writing is so weird. At times I think I have something and others I just realize how hard it is for me to be motivated in writing and in penning anything. It is like there is some kind of huge block or something...

Day Seven

Typically day seven is when the walls start to crash in, the honeymoon ends and the realization of how absolutely insane the idea of writing a novel in thirty days truly is.

And really it is insane but the important thing to remember is that this is the best kind of insanity. The kind of insanity where anything truly goes, the kind where no one can criticize you for being yourself and the kind where the only thing stopping you from success is yourself.

So, what does an aspiring novelist do when the walls of their fantasy novel writing land come crashing down?

Blow something up in the story and then keep writing, no looking back and no second guessing yourself. The only thing keeping this noveling project from eating your soul with a side helping of doubt and self loathing is pure momentum.

I’m telling myself that truly any idea is a good idea and anything that honestly feels right to the story, do it. Otherwise I will be forced to endure chants of “You sold out!” from my soul in the middle of the night.

Writing is a scary enough endeavor without having to have your well meaning but ultimately unnecessary self in the way. The idea is to let the story flow and to let it pour with no regrets or worries over spilt milk.

So before I use anymore clichéd metaphors I’m getting back to work. Have a good weekend and enjoy the free time I don’t have!

Yeah I'm beginning to not care.

I just sort of keep listening to the same song on repeat...again and again and again.

I'm so tired.

I just do not even want to care right now but I do.

Jesus it gets so exhausting to just wake up and be around people. Half the time they aren't even to blame...even the damn annoying ones aren't to blame...its not even half the time...almost all the time the problem is me. Me being so selfish and unwilling to be used, me being so arrogant and prideful and me thinking the whole damn world revolves around me.

But you know, I'm so tired of feeling alone. I know it is my fault and my choice to keep pushing you away but dammit, I can't take much more of this pain.

I'm sick of the melancholy, the being unemployed, not knowing if I get the internship, not knowing how much I actually matter because I'm too stupid to realize your love is sufficient.

I don't even know if I give a fuck about being happy because of how exhausted I am.

Am I making sense here?

I'm feeling this insane mixture of raw pain, depression, loneliness and exhaustion. It makes me swear, it is making me want to scream out loud until my vocal chords bust and explode. I'm hurting so much I would almost welcome the pain, just so I could know I'm alive, so I know I'm not dead and in my very own custom made Hell.

I don't even know why I'm here or what I am doing. All of this become so freaking trite and useless so quickly.

I just wish myself was enough to make people love me, like me and accept me. I don't know why i want any of them to want me but I do. It makes no sense because having others involved makes the pain possibilities so much greater...but I still long for it and lust for it. Lust for the attention and the possibilities of being loved.

And, and what? What now? What now?

"Creep" - Radiohead

Yikes...this is becoming my theme song in more ways than one...

It is being trapped in moments like these that I find myself,
my true self in all of its hypocrisy and lies.
The part of me I pretend is not real,
the part of me I wish I could kill
and the part of me that makes me cry.

I never find solace away from you
much less in me.
Never can I be apart of that which I hate
instead I am trapped.
Forever me being destroyed by you.

What is the point of this game?
All of this fragrant pain?
Every conversation with you
just reflecting how much it is I hate.

Day 6

Day 6

Building the skeleton.

According to my wikipedia based research, basic anatomy states that if we didn't have bones we would be floppy masses of ickyness. Keeping this thought in mind (as well as my ship analogy) I spent most of yesterday and todays writing attempting to make a generalized skeleton outline for my story. Trying to get a better understanding for what the highs and the lows of my novel are.

I'm still not exactly sure what is going on.

There is a lot of general confusion and chaos and in ways I am getting vague glimpses as to what may be going on. On the plus side I'm only a few thousand words behind now and I think I may be caught up by tomorrow...hopefully at least.

Oh well no more time to talk! I'm needed back in surgery!

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Personal side note: Odds are that Obama is not the Antichrist...just saying.