To Be a Writer

“Don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers. Don’t be dull and boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don’t add to that. Don’t do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There is no other way. And there never was.”
— Charles Bukowski

I read this quote today, posted by a good friend of mine from High School. He, like myself, strives to be a writer, though he as a fiction writer. (He's such a passionate writer, and I love and respect him as the writer and wonderful human being that he is. I'll post about him sometime I'm sure.) I found this quote SO disheartening as a person who is interested in writing. I have felt that drive to write before. I've been so psyched out of my mind about an idea that I felt it bursting from me even as I wrote it. I felt like I was painting, not writing, because I wrote so fast. I've felt the desire to mentally pursue characters, so think of their back stories, their hopes, their dreams, every single aspect of their lives. Sometimes I just understood a situation. I didn't create it, I understood it. I had become so wholeheartedly invested in this situation, this skit or short story, that I knew every aspect of it. I could see it through each person's eyes, and knew why it was funny, or sad, or strange, or whatever the desired tone was. I've comprehended it on such an intellectual level that, ironically, I can't find words to describe it. The quote does convey the feeling quite well though.


But I haven't felt like that since I got out of my creative writing class my senior year of High school. Granted, that was only 8 months ago, and it hadn't struck me until I read this. I haven't felt so impassioned to write, haven't felt that burning fire, that instinctual drive, since I left that class. And yet I claim that I want to do it for a living? How can I expect to do so when I can't even write when I'm not being graded. I don't get inspired when there's nothing on the line. I can't perform when I don't have anything to lose. I need stakes. I need a deadline. I need a reason to write other than self motivation. Does that make me a good writer or a bad one? I can't think of anything when I'm not being externally motivated by something.

But wait. Aren't I feeling the fire now? Am I not writing because a quote moved me to writing? I've been inspired by this quote. The sun inside of me is indeed burning my gut because of this quote. It's relit a fire that for many months has laid dormant. I want to write. A scene, a skit, a short story, a prose, anything, really. I want to write out ideas. I want to correct my stupid grammar mistakes I should not have made, but did because I was so terribly excited about an idea that I had to rush to get it out of my mind before I lost it. Though I suppose I was still inspired externally. I don't know.

Maybe I should start building my cardboard shanty now, because I haven't the faintest idea what the hell I'm doing with my future. 

Epiphany

Today I had an epiphany. I realized that I don't seek people's approval because I want everybody to like me. I seek people's approval because I want someone to like me. I don't care who it is, but as long as there's one person who's still with me. I don't care that everybody likes me, I just need someone to. And some days I feel like I definitely don't have that. Some days I feel as though there isn't a single person within 200 miles who's all that emotionally invested in me. I don't know why I feel like that. I've surrounded myself with wonderful people here. But there are times when I feel like I get overlooked, you know? There are times when I feel completely out of everything, or like everybody holds me at arm's distance for whatever reason.  And on those days I just sit in my room and entertain myself. Part of me wants somebody to knock on my door, and prove me wrong while the other part of me wishes that I could just be alone for a long time. Because I have the strange talent (and yes, I do consider it a talent) of being able to be alone with my thoughts. I think of everything. Past days, present days, future days, days that don't even exist, days that couldn't exist, hopes and dreams, and everything in between. And sometimes I like to be alone in my thoughts. But some days I need to be saved from them.

 I guess, sometimes, I feel like to a lot of people I'm just the funny guy. I'm just the guy who's funny when he's around. But when he's not, then other people fill in his place. Other people can be just as funny-- if not funnier-- than I am. So people don't even notice when I'm not around. And I guess part of me is okay with that. But the other part wonders if I should change that, and if it would be worth it to change that. Is it possible that I lose that piece of my self if I do? Maybe even lose my whole self.

Maybe I should just become a hermit. I could easily just crawl into a cave and publish commercial jingles for a living. I would impress people with my magnificently witty catch phrases and sayings through some actor saying them, and still reap the benefits. I think I'd be okay with that... I could entertain myself for a while. I mean I'm sure I'd miss the human contact eventually. But maybe that's what the internet is for. Or maybe I could publish books under a false name, and live a pathetically vicarious life through fictional characters of my own design. But then the books would flop because they'd have next to no root in reality. Nobody would be able to believe what I was saying because it wasn't quite on point with how people really are.

So maybe I'll just stick to what I know. I'll just drift in and out of people's lives, and make them feel good for a brief moment, then drift back into unimportance.I think I'll just do that. 'Cause even if it's broke, sometimes you just can't fix it.

Addicted

I feel as though I should make a confession. I should tell you all about my addiction. It's something I do in private, and completely deny it when accused. But it's obvious to everybody around me that not only do I do it, but that it is affecting my ability to function as a normal human being. Sometimes I do it for so long that I lose track of time, and it makes me late for things. It makes me feel incomplete if I don't do this several times a day.


Solitaire. I have literally clocked over 2100 games since school started in August. This is an obscene amount of time spent on such a useless thing.I spent about 90 seconds per game, and if you multiply that by 2100 (which is, unfortunately, rounding down), then you have a butt ton of time. I'm not a math person, so I won't even pretend to know how many hours that is, and honestly I wouldn't care to. Because I know it's completely ridiculous. I want to stop, but I just can't.

I used to think it was good, you know? Like doing a puzzle. It was benefiting my brain to do it, and I was using my logical reasoning at a fast-paced rate, learning to take logical risks, and trying to undo this horrifically chaotic puzzle in under 90 seconds. I used to think this was benefiting me. But now I know it isn't, not at all. I get in at night after hanging out with friends, and have to win a game before I can go to bed. I try to deny myself, but I just play games in my mind while I try to sleep. And I NEVER WIN. I can't even beat myself at brain solitaire, so I sit and play and play until I win. This usually means a game or two, but on some bad nights, I could sit and play 8 or 9 games before I get what I need. That thrill of seeing those four kings laid, in order, on their respective queens, then invading my screen with a neat animated shuffle.

Sometimes, if I play for a long time before going out in public, I play solitaire with people's shirts. I'll try to line up people with colored shirts with people with black or white shirts. I assign then randomized numbers and try to solve their solitaire game.

I wish I were making this up. But unfortunately it's only slightly exaggerated for your reading pleasure. I have a serious problem, and don't know what to do about it. I hope that by admitting to the world I have a problem that I can begin my long road to recovery.

Valentine's Day Post

So since it's been such a long time since I was motivated to post, I figured I'd post about a recent event in my life: Valentine's Day!! Well, actually, since this year I celebrated this Valentine's day as a super sexy single, I'll probably just talk about the idea of Valentine's day and the idea of love. Last year was the first year that I had a Valentine, which I guess was nice at the time, but because of some negative dendrites associated with the event I wasn't even thinking about the holiday, nor was I looking forward to it. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't boo-hooing or bah humbugging by any means. But I also wasn't seen running around in a diaper shooting people in the butt with arrows with heart-shaped arrowheads. I viewed it as just another day. I had to go to classes still, I had to feign relative interest in several classes ,but I just had to deal with everybody being all couply. You know, walking around holding hands and being cute to a vomit-worthy extent. But the good kind of vomit, the kind that burns with jealousy-- not stomach acid-- when it comes up.
See, unlike most of my male peers, I pride myself in not being an incorrigible douchebag. I try to treat girls with respect, and actually value them as human beings, and not objects. I like to think I treat girls nicely, but I just don't seem to be given the opportunity to impress girls very often, for whatever reason. It's really whatever at this point, because I'm going on a mission anyway. I just wish I'd found a girl with whom I could have had a meaningful relationship with before this point in my life. But I'm at peace with that now, and I just live vicariously through my friends. They tell me about their relationship stuff and I get happy because they seem to be happy. They're excited, and they feel this fire that only this person can fan. Sure, that twinge of jealousy does pop up, but it's usually replaced with happiness for them fairly quickly. Because I think I might be in love with the idea of love.
It's just so awesome to me the human capacity to love people. Call me naive, or stupid or whatever, but I think that love really can conquer all. I think that if people love each other, then they treat each other a certain way that reflects it. I think that people in love radiate, and you can see it when they're around their significant other. They're that nauseating cute that I referred to earlier. And I guess that maybe it's just because I haven't ever been there, so I can't sympathize with the feeling, but sometimes it becomes genuine anger. It's stupid, and I know that, but sometimes I can't help but feel it for a few moments.
After moments like this, I tend to drift off. I wonder who my future wife may be. I wonder if maybe I'm missing her by fractions of a second, if I've met her yet, if she's ever talked to me, or thought about me, or felt the way that I do. I wonder if we'll be so alike it's scary, or so infuriatingly opposite that people will wonder why we're together. I wonder if she ever stops and appreciates the little things. I wonder if she can sing, or play guitar,  or if she has some weird talent like being double jointed in her thumb. I wonder if she's tall or short. I hope she's funnier and better looking than me-- I hope she has a laugh that people catch, and can hear from a mile away. I hope she doesn't mind if I can't sing, or I can't dance, or that sometimes I'm immature and inappropriate. I hope she understands half the crap that comes out of my mouth better than even I do. I hope she likes to cuddle, hold hands, and kiss. I hope she wants to be married in the temple, whichever one she's wanted to be married in since she was a little girl. I hope she'll tell me that story one day. I hope she wants kids, but not too many. I wonder if she prays, prays to God that she finds me, just like I do for her. I wonder if she's even out there. And on those days, I write blog posts 'til 3:30 in the morning because wondering is just about all that I have on these days. I don't have anybody to be in love with, so I just fall in love with the idea of being in love. And on days like this, thinking, wondering, hoping and praying all have to suffice.