2005-11-30
A Meaningful Update
Here's the thing: I stopped updating because it became too uncomfortable. Because the feeling wasn't there. Because maybe I have a bit of a problem sharing at times.
College life is quite...odd, and by no means comfortable. However, there has been some good to come of this: I've become quite comfortable with myself; rather, allow me to rephrase that--I've gotten to understand myself.
I've been told many things about myself and my writing. Mostly, things about my writing. My therapist tells me things about myself, as do close friends.
Writing is writing, but secretly, I strive for the best and I have the same idealistic, poppy-seed dreams anyone else would have: I will write the next great novel...I am gifted.
And it is true, you know...we're all capable of writing the "great novel". I'm going off on a tangent, let me get to my fucking point.
I realize that to create, one must feel. Yet, the formula is still not as simple--one has to be genuine, and perhaps the secret is to not try at all. That's how we become good writers--just stop trying.
There have been two times in my life in which I can remember ever being close to my writing, and both times have had desperation tied to the very root.
It's a desperation that doesn't let you breathe: I've stopped caring about the big picture and focused on the minuscule details...the little things. The painful, bitter-sweet things. And you feel the need to be self-destructive, like, try a bunch of drugs and be a junky for the day, and listen to the line give me a leonard cohen afterworld/so i can sigh eternally, over, and over and over...and shit, you even SING to it!
These things...they're not considered very proper by the whole of society. Neither are orgies, and I'm curious about those, too.
But does it matter? If you're lucky, you get to a point where morality no longer matters and it seems as if nothing can save you. Absolutely nothing--not even God. I'm sure you can try to believe, and it'd be nice to, but your heart may not be in it. Your dedication and curiousity may not, either...but it's one of those things you believe in, by default.
Hold on...I was driving at a point.
So when you're above it all, and when you're mellow, the world changes. My work is what keeps me motivated. My education, too...my plans as a writer. And yes, I'm a good person and care about fluffy animals.
I don't really know if there is a particular point to this entry, save that I felt I owed an explanation as to why I thought I needed to stop writing.
I run away. I push things away. It's an inherent instinct, and I cannot help it, though many will judge me for it.
Constantly, I seek approval about my writing and I am my own worst critic. I believe that I can write something great, but it'd be really shitty to sit on that idea and not strive for something more.
Thanks for reading...no, really.