A Roadblock Finally Sticks

Well, spring break is over. (No, this is not part of my story or my little "story notes") I did a good job over the last part of the break with my writing. I actually managed to write consistently for about 5 days on the same story idea (the McCready related stuff). The usual roadblocks would arise -- little things like names, big things like plot points, and issues such as whether to remain in 1st person (which strikes me as being less favored and only best used for certain stories, but I could be completely wrong) or switch to the seemingly more appropriate (but harder for me to keep writing without getting caught up in the little things) 3rd person, but I pushed through and just kept writing - something...anything. But the roadblocks are piling up and I think I'm just about stalled. There have also been some personal issues getting in the way the last couple of days, but hey -- aren't those the types of situations that most good writers thrive under?

And then today the inevitable "coming up with more story ideas" occurred. Normally when I get an idea and I have enough concentration and lack of inner criticism to start writing, I'll get an entirely new idea a short time later. Then my attention will be drawn to this new one. Then I'll get another one - and lose interest in the previous idea. And so on. I wish I could write as quickly as Stephen King, so that my ideas wouldn't always end up dying on the vine.

So what do I write about in this blog now? I've said about all I have to say on my writing for tonight. But I don't think those reading this will remain interested if all I talk about is behind the scenes turmoil related to my writing. If this were my Myspace blog right now, I would probably comment on school, my girlfriend, how I finally got to see "There Will Be Blood" this weekend, the animals, and maybe even the personal issues I mentioned. But I don't feel as open in that regard here. Odd, because on Myspace I wouldn't feel comfortable posting my creative efforts. Maybe it is something to do with keeping my identity private on here....

I CAN talk about Girl Scout Cookies, though. I've gotta say, as wonderful as they are, it seems like each year they get less tasty and smaller in size. I used to LOVE Samoas....but this year, I ate the first box weeks ago and haven't even touched the second one. The Thin Mints are still good -- especially out of the fridge. I found the Tag-a-Longs to be quite disappointing after all the ado other people made over them.

Golden Slumbers

Sleep has never been an easy thing for me. I've never arisen in the morning, rolled merrily out of bed, greeted the day with a dramatic stretch, and proceeded onward magically refreshed and full of energy. I see people who go running at 6AM and think they must be on cocaine. In my life, sleep does not equal rest. Sleep is a tense, draining struggle. I wake up feeling just as tired, if not more exhausted than when I went to bed. I chew through mouth guards that are not meant to be chewed through. I wake up sore, feeling like I've just spent the night being dragged through the woods by a pack of wolves. The fuzzy-headed feeling never quite leaves. I pass through my days in some measure of a daze, never knowing what it's like to have a clear mind. I cannot fall asleep during daylight - even if I've been up all night. Deep down at times, I feel like I have to be awake to see the sun. To be asleep while it is above the horizon would be to miss something...significant.

But it has gotten better. Lately things aren't so severe. Perhaps my body (or mind) has adjusted to my turbulent sleeping habits as I've grown older. The dreams are still abnormally detailed and strange, but more and more I have dreams that continue from previous nights.

And then there is McCready. This mustached, smiling man dressed like a villain in a Western. But he doesn't scare me. My instincts tell me I should be afraid - very afraid, but I'm not.

If You Talk Too Much My Head Will Explode

"I don't want you to try and save me / no, I don't want you at all" - People in Planes

Consider this a rough draft. Consider this a forward if you will. Consider this a warning. I am not Richard, I am McCready. If Richard continues writing down every little happening and manages to form it into a coherent vision...well, good for him. But, if he does, you will be hearing an awful lot about me. Undoubtedly some of it will be untrue or exaggerated. For instance, it's not true that I hate human beings. I do like some of them. The few who are truly awake. It's also not true that I am a demon or a fallen angel or any nonsense like that. And I never once burned an entire town and all that lived within it to the ground. I let all the animals go. Cows, chickens, and pigs are for eating. Dogs and cats are pleasant company. People are vacant, mad husks of formal potential that do little more than clutter up the landscape. And I do not understand where Richard got the idea that I am a cowboy! I have never been any such thing - in any life! Read on if you care to. His rambling prose will soon follow with dreadful attempts at literary competency. It probably will not even be in a sensible order. Organization eludes him. If you wish to query me about some of what you will learn, by all means, ask. I have the time, believe me.

Purpose

I originally had one of these blogs a few years ago. But I couldn't concentrate very well at the time, I didn't know what to write about, and nobody except spammers and a single friend ever knew it existed. I've blogged on Myspace, but I got the impression that blogging there is not considered truly blogging. Like the association with Myspace and all its juvenile glory taints any attempts at blog legitimacy. Blog legitimacy? Are we seriously at a point where there is such a thing?

Anyway, I suppose I need a purpose for this blog. Unlike most other blogs out there, this will not be my attempt at journalism, a digital soapbox for my political rantings, or a know-it-all information dump for some niche like raising albino tree frogs. Nor will this be a daily report on the minutia of my daily life...at least I hope it doesn't get to that point. I have a hard time deciding what is worth putting on one of these blogs. How does one organize what should and shouldn't go into their blog? After all, isn't a blog by definition an online journal? I put a wide range of things into my journals. Daily events, dreams, problems, news items, poems, song lyrics, story ideas, lists of things, etc. And how much of my true identity do I want to put on here? My name? Picture, hopes, desires, location?

And how does one say, "okay, I'm going to start a blog and it's going to be about stuff in the news that interests me and my thoughts regarding it." Or "my life is so interesting that I'm going to detail it in my blog - people will love it."

Also, I'm greatly concerned with whether I should have this blog include all the things I would want to blog about or if I need to have separate blogs and separate identities for each. Like a made-up identity for a blog with just fiction attempts. One that is about my daily life and the people I know. One for philosophical and other musings. Etc. I'd really rather have it all in one. Having multiple identities and blogs would just be chaos. Plus, with my ADD, there's no telling what I will or will not want to write about on a given day.

So, here's how I begin: At first the only people reading this will be the friends who bother to check it out after I send you emails about it. And spammers. But even my friends may not know me and my odd little mind as well as they think they do. When I was young, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a) a successful writer, b) a musician, or c) an actor. These firm desires never went away. However, as I entered young-adulthood it was ingrained in me that I had to have something practical to pursue as a career. So, I went to college and tried to "find myself" and find a career path that I would be good at, happy with, and could make a comfortable living doing. I tried an extensive list of majors, went to law school for a year, spent a few years in the real world working, and am now back in engineering school of all places. But none of it has been "me." I am good at a lot of things. Good, but not great. The only things I've ever really been better than most people at were writing, music, and being dramatic. Every single personality profile and career aptitude test I've taken has pointed towards those very things I love doing the most. Yet here I sit, mired in my mid-twenties (or are they late-twenties now...), and I still cannot find success in anything I do. If everything about my personality, my talents, and my desires indicates I should be this great writer - how come I haven't written anything of note? How come I don't have a book deal or at least my own column in some local paper? If writing is what God put me on the earth to do, then how come every time I face a blank page with an idea, I end up with nothing but frustration and five sentences edited over and over again?

In college they trained me not only in fiction, but poetry as well. The poetry was sort of an afterthought. Yet, for some reason, I excelled in those classes. Perhaps it was the combustible nature of the college-aged mind and the minimal amount of concentration poetry requires. My best works were typically the ones that I gave the least amount of thought towards. They were the ones written 30 minutes before class, soaring on a possibly-too-high dose of ADD medication, with no planning or worrying or picking apart the details. As in all things with my life - if I try too hard, I fail completely. I have to NOT try in order to succeed. Welcome to the mixed up world of ADD.

I am starting to realize that the same principle of "letting go" and thinking less about what I'm writing also applies to my fiction attempts. Oh, the countless good ideas that have escaped from my brain only to be beaten to death upon the rocks of my own self-criticism. Literally each word typed onto the page would be subject to examination and deep consideration. How will this word be viewed by the reader? Is this the best word for what I'm trying to get across? Does it fit sufficiently with the previous words? Oh, it was hell. Not just for the poor words and ideas, but for me as well. I would watch as my own newborn ideas would be torn apart by my own frenzied mind until they were deemed unfit for further consideration. "That's not going anywhere," "it's been done before," "it's not original enough," and on and on.

I think that this "over-thinking" not only played havoc with my creative endeavors, but also hampered a lot of my youthful and college years. I over-thought everything in my daily life, to the point that I was filled with great anxiety over very minor things. This constantly anxious and hyper-analytical state resulted in a great many missed opportunities, bizarre reactions, unnecessary brooding, and stifled personal growth. Something happened in my post-college years, though. Maybe I grew up. Maybe I burned out some of my body's ability to create anxiety. Maybe I just let go a little. In the last year or two I've become a different person. At least, in my own eyes. I'm more flexible, relaxed, and open. And maybe now I'm ready to "let go" in my writing.

Two nights ago I sat down with a yellow legal pad and began to write. Normally I would attempt to write on a word processor, but all that ever results in are saved documents with an awkward opening paragraph or maybe a brief synopsis of the idea itself. Such documents are rarely seen or heard from again. I've had this idea floating around in my head for some time now. If I thought too hard about it or tried to form it into a plot with characters and such things, it grew into a nasty ball of frustration. So, instead I simply started writing. I had to write it in first person perspective because any attempts at third-person result in flat tires and stilted prose. So it was about myself meeting this evil cowboy figure in the backyard. We had/have a history together (another story idea from a month or two ago), but somehow he is back and he is real and he is in my backyard. That's the thing -- with my ADD and hyper-thinking mind, I'm so fragile of a writer that right now, the only way I can get anything out might just be to put myself literally into the middle of it. Most writers can write for days on any subject at all. It's like breathing. But for me, and my...issues...the only times I seem to write on and on are when I'm relaxed and not concerned with what I'm actually saying: such as in emails. What do I write about in emails? Myself, my life, my thoughts, my dreams, my friends. So if sitting down and critically thinking about a story idea is basically suicidal, why not just put myself in the story and fire away? Sounds good.

Alrighty, friends. I must go now. Maybe someone will read this sometime soon. If not...then my brain has nothing to worry about.