Invisible

“The one creating, seeing, but never seen.”

The last few books I’ve read (well, not the one I started and set aside for now because I was struggling to get through it) have had certain lines or passages which struck a chord with me, often to the point of my taking a photo of the page so that I can go back and mull over it again later.

I decided last night to use this blog as my “later”, when I can.

The above line is from the book I’m reading right now (All The Missing Girls by Megan Miranda), and it followed after a few particularly strong paragraphs describing sketches which all depicted only one lonely female as the central figure in each. The artist was also described as a young woman who was often alone, herself, and finished with the line at the top of this post.

I had, as a child, often wanted to be invisible; I would always try to not draw attention to myself, even as I desperately wanted certain people to see me, and notice me. Now as an adult, I don’t think about it as often, but some days I definitely notice an apparent lack of ability to see me in the other random people around me. The number of times I nearly get walked into (or actually do), or stepped out in front of, or spoken over…just…not seen nor heard. Treated as though I’m not even there. It’s been a running joke in my mind for years, but at the same time, it happens a lot. So often that I occasionally wonder if I’m actually that unnoticeable, after all. If my childhood wish actually came true.

There was an episode of (I think) Haven once where a girl felt so ignored in high school that she literally faded from view. She was still there, but no one could see her anymore. It was sad and fascinating at the same time. And not at all difficult to imagine being somewhat true.

I’m more of an observer than anything else. Always watching and thinking and processing and dreaming, but rarely doing. Rarely occupying the space I am in, or connecting to the people I am with. There but not there. Alive but not living. Present, but in a different moment slightly parallel to the one others seem to be in.

Experiencing my world from a distance of disconnect.

Writing Prompts – Day 3 of 12

Day 3:  Mystery Cookie

One Day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful

to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find

another cookie. This continues for months until one Day a different object is left—and this

time there’s a note.

 

Whenever I actually find something left for me on my desk at work – especially if it’s food of any kind – I assume it’s from Generous George, and accept it with gratitude, always thanking him when I see him. For the purposes of this, I’ll assume it was George, but then come to find that it was, in fact, not. Maybe he denies it, and maybe I don’t believe him at first, but eventually come to the supposition that perhaps the cookies are not coming from Georgie at all. I mean, it goes on for months – that’s a lot of false denial on both our parts.

I wonder why “Day” is capitalized in the prompt write-up?

Anyway, one day I come in and, instead of a cookie, I find a small feather. It looks like it’s from a pigeon. And not so much a note – but a map.

(Note: Just got some rather sad news so keeping this short, because I’m no longer very focused on writing at the moment)

So a map. From what I can tell, it’s for an area of my workplace, but one I haven’t been to in years. Not the way it was, anyway. Renovations several years ago rearranged things, so now there is an alarmed security door between where I am now and the stairwell I used to use several times a day. No one really uses that area any more, as this side of the door is just storage space, and all of the offices that used to be on this level have been moved to a different building all together. Other than the washrooms, there’s no need for anyone to come down to the stairwell on the other side of the door anymore. We used to use it as our main entrance and exit back in the day, however, so it doesn’t take long before I recognize what I am looking at.

In fact, it was in that very stairwell – mere months before I moved away for a short time – that a pendant so precious to me I wore it every day, broke suddenly, and a piece of it was lost. It had been a gift, created by hand, and given to me to mark a special day. I valued it almost as much as I valued the one who gave it to me, and even though I changed the cord it hung from a couple of times to keep it strong, the beads and other items which hung from it remained ever the same.

Until that day.

Out of nowhere, the cord suddenly snapped and everything scattered to the tiled floor as I was starting to climb the stairs. I was a tad confused as to how it had broken, as to my knowledge the cord I was using was still in good shape, but the pendant had broken before, and I’d always retrieved all of the pieces, and placed them back in their proper order on a new cord.

This time, I gathered everything up once again, and double-checked to make sure I had it all. I did not. There was a single bead missing. This would not be a huge deal, except that the beads were all in pairs on the pendant, and not having one meant that the balance was all thrown off. What’s more is that a piece of the whole was missing, and that just didn’t sit right with me. Inside, I started to become a little frantic, and then a lot frantic, as the more I searched – even including the help of a friend – the more obvious it became that the bead was gone.

Despite the fact that there was nowhere for it to go. There were no cracks in the tile, no gaps between the floor and the wall which wasn’t sealed. We widened our search to ridiculous proportions, but eventually I had to concede defeat. A bead from my precious pendant was gone, and it felt like a piece of me was missing.

It felt like something important had left me, like the One Ring when it chooses to abandon Gollum in the caverns.

That feeling returns with the memories of that day as I follow the map which had been left on my desk with the wee feather. I actually forgot for a moment that the door is alarmed now and I can’t go through it without setting it off, so I turn sheepishly to go upstairs and outside to come in the other entrance. There is a tiny ‘x’ near a corner of the map, and while it’s close to the door, it does appear to be on the other side from where I now work.

I begin to feel even more silly as I descend the stairs, yet memories of that one day increase the closer I get to where it happened. Now that I am here, I take a moment to re-orient myself with the map (I’m basically lost once I get inside most of the time – my sense of direction is crap), and look around the area of the ‘x’ for anything which appears to be out of place. I can’t notice anything overt – definitely no more cookies or even feathers – and the floors are actually quite smooth and clean, since they are so rarely used these days.

I’m feeling pretty ridiculous and am about to head back to work when something catches my eye. It’s in a corner, hard to see, but the pattern of the tile appears to be skewed ever so slightly. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it’s not skewed so much as chipped off. A piece of the tile has cracked at some point, and while the broken part has long since been swept away, it left behind a small gap between the tile and the wall it connects to.

What the hell, right?

I get down on my hands and knees, listening for any sign of another person approaching, and pull out my phone to flip on the flashlight app. Shining it into the dark corner, my heart seems to skip a beat.

The light flickers off of something shiny in that tiny gap.

Feeling ever more insane and yet driven at the same time, I tug my key ring from my jeans pocket, select the one which appears to be the best fit, and wiggle it into the narrow, jagged fracture. I scrape the key toward me a few times, then feel something give under the metal. One more pull in my direction frees it completely, and a small object rolls into the beam of light still emanating from my phone.

Naturally, it’s the missing bead from my pendant. All these years later, it’s decided to return to me.

I mean, what would have been the point of telling that whole story if it had been anything else, right?

Writing Prompts – Day 2 of 12

Day 2:  The One That Got Away

You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One

That Got Away.” What happens?

 

I realize that I’m not quite doing these things right, but at the same time, they are writing prompts, and I am writing about them. So suck it. I’m doing it how I wanna. Haha

Anyway…I’m going to delve into the vault of my actual past relationships for this one, just out of curiosity alone.

I was trying to figure out who I would consider to be “The One That Got Away”. I mean, every one of them dumped me, not the other way around, so in that sense, they all got away. Most of them, I was eventually glad they got away for various reasons, but there are three in particular that I miss, and still sometimes wonder what life would have been like had we not broken up. Of those three, one was unlike any relationship I’ve ever had, and was only ever meant to be temporary. It was more of a glimpse into what I would like to have for myself in the future, rather than any kind of permanent long-term thing. It was always going to end, and it was never meant to be 100%, but I feel like she’d be proud of the person I’ve become, and into whom I am continuing to grow.

She wouldn’t be proud relationship-wise, obviously, because a) I haven’t been in one for a good 7 years or so, and b) I never did find the kind of pairing she’d shown me I’d want for myself. Almost, but not quite.

So that leaves me with the other two, and they are actually more alike than different, as far as our relationships went, so for the purpose of this exercise, I can pretty much use both, instead of one or the other. In this case, they are sort of interchangeable. They are both also the closest I’ve been to realizing the kind of relationship I want someday.

They are not interchangeable as people – at all – but as far as what would happen if I bumped into either one of them on Valentine’s Day. Or any day, for that matter. It would all go about the same.

For some reason, when I first pictured this encounter, it took place in a restaurant. Why I would be in a restaurant alone on Valentine’s Day is beyond me, though. Unless it was McDonald’s.

And neither woman lives in this city, so bumping into either of them would be a surprise, to say the least. However, in my first instinctive scenario, both would be with their families. The families they built on after dumping me. Both had a child or children when I met them, and one has more now. Both are married (to men, because neither was actually gay to begin with – I’m just that spectacular for short periods of time), and both love their families; families of which I’d wanted so badly to be a part. So naturally, if I’m going to run into The One That Got Away, she’s going to be happily living her life with someone else, and – more importantly – without me.

That is going to simultaneously hurt me to my core, and make me happy to see her smile.

Maybe she introduces me as an old friend. Maybe some of the people at the table already know me. Maybe she’ll tell me a little about the job she loves, and about where she’s living now. She’ll definitely share something about the kiddo(s) I know and how they’re doing now, all grown up.

She’ll ask how I am.

I’ll lie.

Even though she’s obviously happy and enjoying her life without me, I won’t want her to know how I’m actually doing. It doesn’t even necessarily have anything to do with her – or not as much as it might seem – but not having a job I love and not seeing anyone right now…just all the “nots” that she has now and I don’t. I’m jealous and sad and blaming myself for not being good enough to give her the happy life she deserves, and is now enjoying right in front of me.

I’ll tell her I’m at least okay, that things are going pretty well, I’ll brush off the relationship question and deflect everything with humour.

Then I’ll leave, because even though I’m in McDonald’s on Valentine’s Day, I suddenly don’t have an appetite anymore, and I just want to go home. I’ll flip through some old photos and memories, imagine what might have been, and allow myself to feel for a brief moment as though she’d just gotten away all over again.

After that, I’ll pour myself a drink, break open a bag of chips, and watch some TV, because no one needs to feel that much misery over someone else’s happiness.

Especially not when it’s someone you love.

Writing Prompts – Day 1 of 12

Day 1:  Breaking Up With Writer’s Block

It’s time for you and Writer’s Block to part ways. Write a letter breaking up with Writer’s

Block, starting out with, “Dear Writer’s Block, it’s not you, it’s me …”

 

Dear Writer’s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me. I feel like I’ve never really been with you, anyway. Not really. Bumps in the road, maybe, here and there, but never really blocked. Not in terms of writing, at least. In most other facets of my life, most definitely.

So maybe I should break up with you there, too.  Break up with blockage in general.

The thing is, I’ve never really been one to break up with anyone. And while I communicate much better when I can take time to write things down, it’s not something I imagine I’d ever do via a letter. In person seems the better way – the more mature way – to treat someone you supposedly once loved. Or at least liked enough to want to be with in some form of relationship or other.

I’ve always been the one reacting to being broken up with, so I don’t really have any experience on this whole side of things.

I guess there’s a first time for everything, though, right? So maybe I should say to you what I would want said to me, if the shoe were on the other foot, and if you were breaking up with me, instead. Not that I ever want to be broken up with, but still. There’s no need to be cruel about it. Still, I am sorry that you’re getting my experimental first try at being the breaker-upper. I know how much it sucks, and yet I’m doing it, anyway.

So let’s see…I guess, first of all, Writer’s Block, we’re really not very good for each other. I can’t give you what you need, and you can’t give me what I need. That’s probably why I’ve never really been with you to begin with – I don’t think either of us ever really committed to being together, you know? It’s definitely worth trying for, and fighting for, but at some point, we both just have to realize that it’s just not working. And trying to force something that doesn’t work always ends up making things worse.

Maybe there is no second of all, actually. Maybe that’s enough. It’s not working, and nothing either of us could do or change would be able to make it work between us. I feel like it’s best for both of us if we move on, but I also don’t want to make decisions for you. I do, however, have to do what’s best for me.

And this is it.

Take care, Writer’s Block. Almost knowing you even a little bit changed me for the better, so thank you for that. Going our separate ways now will make things better still – for me, and I hope someday you realize, for you, too.

Sue

Kindness and Writing

I’m not very kind to myself when I am unhappy.

I have an opportunity to make a big change, which will make me more out-of-control unhappy for a while, but may balance out in the end naturally, if I stay on top of things.

It’s weird to not be quite certain as to whether you are doing something good for you in the long run, but knowing it’ll make you even more miserable in the short term. Like, would I be doing it for the potential long term gain? Or because I believe on some level that I deserve the short term misery?

Similar scenarios have come up…pretty much my whole life, I think, but I really only noticed the bizarre nature of the conundrum within the past decade, or so. I even like to push myself occasionally, just to see how much I can take. And I can take a lot. And that, too, makes me proud.

Maybe only part of it is thinking I deserve it. Maybe part of it is about finding some new part of myself to be pleased with.

Twisted as that is.

I think I’m in an abusive relationship. With myself.

Then again, I think most people are, to some degree. I’m just better able to recognize it, and that also pleases me, about me.

Also – like, I usually have more than one thing going on in my daily life. And way more than that on my mind. Narrowing it all down to one topic or two to graze the surface of in a blog post isn’t meant to indicate that I only ever have one thing to talk about. Or that I want to talk about. Or that there isn’t far more that I don’t want to talk about. Sometimes I think maybe I should just focus on doing different little writing exercises, instead of trying to come up with something to say. I actually want to do more writing exercises, because they are fun, and forcing myself to do them more often might somehow improve my writing a bit. Part of me always worries about putting my writing online, because then it’s a public forum, not copyrighted, and easy to steal.

But then again, if someone really wants to claim something I whipped up on my lunch break at work was actually something they wrote themselves, then perhaps I should just be flattered, and let them have at it.

Obviously they would be in far worse shape than I!

Dammit I Don’t Have Time!

Guys! My brain! I just don’t even know. I had a couple of ideas for what I wanted to talk about, but then the day got going and everything went to hell. As it does.

So whatever. I’m not above just babbling, as you well know.

The final round of voting in the Favourite TV actor category of the Reelie awards got underway this morning. Only a couple more categories to go after this one and then it’ll be time to do the live show to announce the winners! Stay tuned for that!

Tim and I are shooting the first of one of the new Mind Reels segments tomorrow after work. This one will be done weekly, or as close to weekly as time permits, so while I fully expect growing pains while we iron out all the kinks, I still think it’ll be a fun little addition to our spate of regular episodes. Getting excited about it, and have even started trying to work out a sort of format outline for it. We’ll see how that goes!

I got approved to attempt another Guinness World Record, which is kind of exciting. Doing this one on my own, I guess, but we’ll see. I kind of want to make some sort of event out of it, and I wish so much that I could tie it into a book launch, or something, but I don’t see having anything ready in time to do it right, so I’ll probably just make the actual attempt part it’s own thing. I don’t know. I haven’t really planned out very much yet, because I just delved into the specific guidelines yesterday. I also found an attempt that was made in April, so I’m using that as the target to beat, instead of what GWR lists as the official record, just in case that other one gets verified in the meantime. It’s just easier that way, I think.

For a brief time this morning, I was seriously considering signing up for a Writing Workshop that takes place in August. I was trying to figure out which manuscript I would work on beforehand to take with me and get some feedback on, but I decided to look into which agents would be there so that I could query my best with someone who might actually be interested. I checked the cost and it’s far from horrible, even with the agent query added on, but the problem is that it’s right before Fan Expo, and there are a couple of once-in-a-lifetime things I am interested in getting done there, too, if I can. Though, to be fair, I don’t know the pricing of that stuff yet, and might not be able to afford any of it, anyway. Then there are all the other things I want/need in the meantime, from a new pair of jeans to more tattoos. I’ll still keep it in mind (knowing me, with all the other stuff already spinning around in there), but it’ll probably end up on the back-burner (with most of the other stuff already spinning around in there). At least this time.

I really want to go, though. There’s one agent in particular that I wouldn’t mind querying, but I’d also definitely want to get it right the first time, with her. What I should be doing is practicing. Actually, I should first be editing and revising and just freaking writing more regularly. Like, instead of just here. I have all those writing projects on the go and none of them are where I want them to be yet. Not even Carving The Light. Yet.

Then there’s crafts I still have to make, another GWR attempt that I may or may not follow through on, a few vague project ideas typed into my phone notes (where I keep pretty much everything) that I desperately want to look into further but as of yet have not been able to find any time. No time.

Speaking of time, I also really want to get the battery in my watch changed. I haven’t worn it in years but have been thinking about it a lot lately.

There’s just so little opportunity to be creative when you’re so busy adulting all the time. Which is particularly annoying when you’re not really very good at either, nor even at finding a balance between the two.

Adulting sucks.

Thought Potpourri

This post will just be a hodgepodge of things – a mix – a potpourri, if you will, because there are a few things on my mind that I should probably delve into deeper at some point, but which for now I’ll just gloss over so I remember for later.

Since I got a phone with a camera, and for every phone I’ve had with a camera over the years, I stopped taking an actual camera with me in day-to-day life. Special occasions, I might take one, and the zoo I always take one, but I find that the best photo opportunities come when least expected, which is problematic, because I never have a real camera with me. I always, however, have my phone. It’s just the photos aren’t that high quality beyond sharing on social media, which is usually fine, until I want to do something more than that with them.

Take Brody, for example. I am always taking pictures of him, especially when we go for a walk, because he’s so flippin’ cute I can barely stand it. Just this morning I took this sweet shot:

However, I’d love to have a photo that was so awesome it ended up getting picked to be in, say, the annual Pet Valu calendar. He’s easily handsome enough, but my phone isn’t skilled enough to get a high quality snap, nor do I have a real camera handy when I am indoors. I tried over the weekend to take pictures of him with one of my actual cameras, but this was the best I could do, so I entered it on their website here.

Not a horrible shot, but far from the attention-grabbing amazingness that he deserves.

Some day, maybe.

There are times when I feel like I am put in the position of arguing one side of a debate, simply because I can see more than one side, but whoever I’m talking to can’t. I kind of hate that, because I feel like it takes away from my ability to move past that level of comprehension and onto the next. I mean, I suppose it’s my choice, really. I could instead choose to just agree with whatever the other person is saying, because I can see their point usually, and usually even agree with some of it. But I also hate not challenging things when I can clearly see other points to be made, as well. To me, it seems like blind acceptance to not challenge something when it’s obvious that the issue is not so black and white as someone else may think. I try to push them, but for the most part, I am pushing myself, as well. Which is good, except when I get so frustrated at arguing the other side – a side I also don’t fully agree with – that I end up just playing Devil’s Advocate and lose sight of my actual thoughts involving all sides. I end up feeling angry and silently blaming the other person/people for putting me in that position, but not-so-deep down I know it was my own choice. I like to be thorough, I guess.

It’s interesting, my buddy that I hung out with over the weekend, I’d forgotten what our conversations could be like, and how much I loved them. His brain works a lot like mine does, in that we have our own thoughts and opinions, and those don’t always mesh, but our desire to talk things through from multiple angles is…rather invigorating. It really is a wonder we ever got any work done, sometimes.

Last week, a current co-worker asked one day if I had any writing projects on the go, because we hadn’t talked about any of it recently, at all. This was my response, more or less (including stuff about this blog and the possible resurrection of The Mind Reels podcast):

Carving The Light – My intent is to re-write the whole thing as a feature length screenplay. I also want to add in more unpredictable drama to flesh it all out more. The end will be the same, but the journey there will be more emotionally harrowing.

Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads – I keep toying with the idea of re-writing it in some way, skewing it for either a younger or older audience, maybe. Or turning it into a cartoon-type of format. Or maybe just shopping it around to agents and/or publishing houses to see if I can find a home for it. Regardless, it’s far back-burner at the moment!

Untitled Young Reader book about Ellie Skye – This is only a very rough first draft right now, but I really want to go back and take another pass or two at it. Eventually it’d be targeted at readers aged 9-12-ish, I think. Especially girls who need more heroes and adventure stories involving girl protagonists.

Suffer The Fury – My first attempt at a young adult novel, and would make an excellent series. I have done a few drafts, but it still needs more work before I can really try to do anything with it. I entered it in ABNA back when it was still going on, but didn’t make it far enough to get in-depth reviews of the whole manuscript. I got pretty good reviews from readers of the first 10 pages or whatever it was, though!

To Whichever Comes First – I wrote my first screenplay for a short film! I wrote it for a contest because I wanted a deadline I was forced to meet, but I also kept it super simple, so that I might actually be able to shoot it for a very low cost, if I ever get around to it! It all takes place almost completely in one room, and there are two main characters with, like, two other side characters that they interact with briefly. It could totally be done, I think! In my mind, I’ve even been casting it with people I actually know!

Sometimes I See Hearts – My first attempt at writing a picture book for children, again with a little girl as the protagonist. It even rhymes!!! Not sure if I should keep it in its current writing style or go back and Dr. Seuss it up, instead, but I’m content with the first complete draft, so far!

So there you have it. A few of the myriad of things swirling around my brain right now, in addition to finally getting approved to make an official attempt at another Guinness World Record. Got that news this morning, so still have to find time later to really go through the guidelines and see what I can sort out as far as a plan of attack goes. We shall see! More on that in the coming days, I think!

Before my alarm went off this morning, I was dreaming that I was having trouble waking up. I woke up at work, for some reason, but then everything went backwards, in a way, and I was horrifically late for work at the same time. Regardless of where I was, though, I could not keep my eyes open; couldn’t focus on anything. I think there were Muppets at one point.

So exhausted on every level today in waking life, and yet no Muppets to at least make things interesting. Geez.

Life can be so unfair.

Writing Exercises

I don’t feel like talking much today, so I thought I’d try a quick writing exercise. The first five are actually books I’ve written, though they are in various stages of completion. As such, number three’s title is still a work in progress. It’s more there as a placeholder for the book itself. Title six is what I would call my autobiography. Titles seven and eight have been on my mind for a long time now, and nine would probably work better as a comic strip, but the last one will really require some actual thought. I realize that most of them are technically a cheat, so maybe I’ll write more after, or do another little exercise, as well. Anyway…

“Write 10 potential book titles of books you’d like to write.”

1. Carving The Light
2. Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads
3. The Ellie Skye Chronicles
4. Suffer The Fury
5. Sometimes I See Hearts
6. Great Idea; Poor Execution
7. Downward God
8. Downtown Abbie
9. The Misadventures of Brody Graham
10. Ramblings of a Wasted Heart

Okay, all but two of them are cheats. Well, maybe three, but really only numbers 7 and 8 are legit titles I wish I could use for something I’ve written. The titles of my actual books usually come from something that happens in the story, or some line of text. Ebon Black is a play on Snow White, and Ellie Skye doesn’t officially have a title yet, so it could end up being completely different. The last two I just threw in because I needed two more titles. I almost went with “Never A Bridesmaid” but felt it sounded too romance-y.

I’m not good at thinking up titles without having a story for them. When I do come up with the title first, it’s so far pretty much impossible for me to come up with a decent story idea to go along with it. Sort of like these blog posts. I usually throw in some kind of cohesive title last, because what I think I am writing about usually changes before I get to the end.

I don’t really understand things today, I don’t think. Feeling hella disconnected and…frenetic. I just Googled ‘frenetic’ to make sure I had the right word for how I’m feeling today. It’s close enough.

Part of a dream I had last night involved trying to tell someone something, but being constantly interrupted – partly from other things going on around us, and partly because the other person was just distracted and not really listening. Which was weird, because I am pretty sure she’d asked me a question and I was trying to answer it. Anyway, it was frustrating, and the sense of too much happening at once has continued into the day.

Let’s try another exercise, this one different from the last, but hopefully quicker:

1. Who is coming round the corner?

   An elderly gentleman, wearing the requisite button-up argyle cardigan over a striped shirt and tan trousers. A beat-up old bowler hat rests upon his balding head, wisps of white hair poking out from underneath. He is alone, and slightly stooped, yet walks with purpose and intent. He’s going somewhere specific, his mind in both the past and the future at the same time.

2. What is their secret?

   He’s met someone new, and is truly happy for the first time in his long life. He finally knows what real love is, even as it comes with the burden of guilt and shame he’s been taught since he was a child. The love of his life is a good decade younger than he is – and is another man.

3. What are they carrying?

   Flowers. Every Sunday since his wife of 55 years passed away, he’s made the trek to the cemetery to lay fresh flowers at her grave, just as he’d done for her each week while she was alive. This week is no different on the surface, and yet – for him – it will never be the same again.

Writing Choices

I realized something this morning, or at least noticed it happening again.

I was going over in my head some of the things I’m planning to do with the story contained in my first novel, and what I’m toying with having some of the characters do. One in particular is bothering me more than I’d realized at first, because it’s the one loosely based on moi.

Now, don’t get me wrong – our lives are not at all the same. I have a brother not sisters, I am the oldest not the youngest, and I am nearly a decade older than the character is in the book. I’m not with a Sarah, both my parents are still alive, I didn’t grow up in that house, or have Trick for a dog. I don’t think I’ve ever even carved a pumpkin for Halloween. Not on my own, at least.

So really, I guess that character is just more like how I think I’d react in the situation I wrote her into. Though I guess that could be said for everyone I write, in a way, because there’s part of me in all of my creations, to a certain extent. But that one in particular was written to give myself an alternate story to exist in, just as Sarah was written to give the person she was inspired by a different imaginary path to tread upon. Neither of them are more or less real to me than the others in their story, though. I just have I guess more of an emotional attachment to one in particular. I don’t want her to do anything I don’t think I would do.

But since the screenwriting conference, I’ve been considering doing just that. I’ve been struggling with a reason for it – a believeable reason, something that felt true – and haven’t come up with one as of yet. I did come up with a plausible yet similar act for which there would be justification (at least in her mind and kind of mine), so I might very well go with that. I’m not certain it’ll make the story stronger, but I’m not sure that it won’t, either, so I am betting on at least keeping the sense of truth to it all, instead. Because truth can do wonders for the power in a story, and for real life.

The crazy thing I realized or noticed again this morning was how much it was actually bothering me to try and come up for a reason for my character to do something against my own inner traits. I felt a little nauseous, and distracted, headachey and sadder than usual. When I say it was depressing to think about – to imagine possible scenes that would lead the character down the path to making that choice – I don’t mean it in a flippant or surface way. I mean that it affected me on every level – physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I felt horrible just thinking about it in detail and trying to make it work.

My imagination can be pretty strong sometimes.

I felt worse about that than I have about many actual things that have happened.

So I’ve decided that – whether it works in theory or not – it won’t work for me. As in, I won’t be able to make it work, not for that character. I could easily have a different character in the story perform the act as it started out in my head, but that would have been more believable and far less powerful than having this particular character do this particular thing, but have the scenario leading up to it be a little different from what I had originally considered. Which means I get to add power to my story, while not making myself sick, or at least not in that way.

It’s amazing how much better I felt as soon as I realized the effect even thinking about it was having on me and made the decision to literally change my story. Even just a tiny alteration made all the difference.

Communication and Juggling

I started making a few notes for the two writing projects I am most excited about last night before bed. It was late, of course, because I had to see how the Raptors game turned out! And I was super tired as it was, but wanted to get a couple of things down so I wouldn’t forget them once real life started back up again this morning.

Even as I made my notes, though, I could already feel myself talking myself out of trying to work on either one. The spec script for the old TV series I love was the first to back away, followed closely by the screenplay for my first novel. I could sense how much work either one would take just to do at all, let alone do well, and as tired as I was/am, I’m not sure I have the energy I’d need to bother. My mind was still asking questions and coming up with answers, but my excitement was already waning. Part of me wondered if it was really just that I was so tired, but another part of me knew the problem had more to it than that.

I’m just not good at communicating.

I have always been more of a writer than a speaker. I’m aware that, when I talk, I either can’t get my point across at all, or I take forever to get around to it. I never liked speaking as a kid, and I guess I still don’t, but now it’s more because I am just so painfully certain I am not being understood. Or I’m boring. Or I have nothing useful to say so I babble. Or I struggle to sort out what I should say versus what should be held back. I always think about it before I say it out loud, and when I then screw that up, I wonder how I managed to suck so much that I couldn’t have anticipated such suckage.

Writing has always been easier in a way, because even though I can’t write as fast as my brain processes things, I can at least go back and correct something, or read over it again to ensure it makes some kind of sense, prior to sharing it. I mean, there are reasons why this is a blog and not a vlog, you know? Still, I am also painfully aware that even all of that preparation for thought-sharing doesn’t make much difference when I can’t string together the words I need to in order for another individual to absorb and understand whatever it is I’ve written. And when I share it and get any kind of feedback, it usually lets me know that I was not successful in expressing myself with the written word, either.

I mean, there are some things – I think I do slightly better with one-on-one conversations, because when the person is right in front of me, I can gauge whether or not we are understanding one another by how the conversation goes. I can take my time, and alter my wording to say the same thing a different way. My therapist usually repeats back to me what she’s heard, but in her own words, so that we can both check to make sure we are on the same page before we move on. I don’t really expect conversations with others to go that way, of course – therapy is pretty one-sided, after all – but you can still tell if the basics are being received on both sides of the conversation.

Adding even one more person to the scenario, though, increases the chances that I won’t feel understood. It’s hard enough checking in with one person to see if we are still connecting, let alone two or more. Everyone’s focus is split that much more when more voices and minds are included, too.

Which makes trying to get something across via a blog kind of difficult, too, really, because I can’t even look a reader in the face to see if what I’m saying is being received the way I want it to be. I mean, I know it’s never exactly as I intend, because we all come from different places with different experiences under our belts. But it’s very one-sided, as well, in that you put something out there, and either get no feedback, or feedback that let’s you know your efforts didn’t work. Sometimes you spark a longer conversation, which helps, but essentially, it’s just throwing things at a wall to see what sticks, and whether it does or doesn’t, you only find out after the fact. You’ve already posted it, so if it’s misunderstood or misinterpreted, it’s already done, and can’t really be redone with any sort of effectiveness. You can go back and say, “I meant blah dee bloo” but it’s ridiculous to think you can have one-on-one written comments with everyone who read the initial post. You have to accept that putting something out into the world in writing does not in any way guarantee that everyone – or anyone – will understand what you were trying to say. It’s just not possible.

Same with writing in general. Like, I think a couple of people have read my short film script, but I haven’t requested any feedback, and for the most part, the whole thing exists in my head. I guarantee that no one who has read it can see it the way I do, because there’s much more in my head than was written down, and I don’t have the words to make that all apparent. I felt a visual medium would be a better way for me to communicate, and while it’s early yet, it may well be better, but that doesn’t make it great. It doesn’t mean I’m even capable of being an effective communicator; not to my own satisfaction, at least.

Which is also part of the problem, I’m sure. If I don’t really feel like I am being heard or understood, I get frustrated, and end up closing myself off all the more. I live inside my head, and when I occasionally try to communicate and fail, back in I go. Maybe practice makes perfect, so this blog might help, and writing might help, and talking might help. It might not, but it can’t hurt to try.

Okay, it can hurt to try, and often does hurt to try, but there’s no real point in not trying. Because as frustrating as it is when other people don’t quite get what I’m trying to say, I recognize that the issue is really just with me. The frustration is with myself, really, and I definitely can’t expect to be more effective at communicating by not communicating, so I write to be less frustrated with myself in general.

Still, I already have a lot on my plate, and I am not sure adding two more is a great idea.

Maybe one more, though. I may yet focus on the screenplay adaptation of my novel and see if I can get around to giving those characters a better story than the one they currently have. Not that anyone else needs to think it’s better, but I definitely want to. It’s still on my mind all these years later, so at some point I do need to address it.

The spec script would maybe be fun to write and post online as I do so – it could be kind of a cool exercise. No idea when I’d have the time, but you never know. I’ve never really gotten a lot of feedback while writing. It’s usually after the fact. It might be interesting to see what would happen if people were weighing in throughout the whole first draft process. It might make it feel less like it exists solely in my own head, at least. I don’t know. We’ll see.

When you’re already juggling a billion things, does one more really make much of a difference?