The Fear Is Gone
I stopped chewing my fingernails. It was strangely abrupt. I don't even know what the impetus was. My mom's has been advising me to stop for years. Even my mentor/boss shared that it can be seen as unprofessional.
I think it was something along the lines of deciding I want to be in control of my hands instead of gnawing them compulsively.
In other news, politicians are still dumb-dumbs.
In other other news, news is typically a sad place.
In other^3 news, Werbel is way too bloody slow, but he's trying, so I can't condemn him.
In other^4 news, I should probably start writing on my clipboard pages instead of typing because clipboard pages feel freer, messier—messy enough not to worry but rather just write.
I wrote a poem recently! It probably took me longer than a year, but I was still pleased; it was simple, rhyming, and metered.
I have a plethora of theories. One of them is that people tired of writing quality poetry, so they frivolously deemed it childish or something similarly vague. Consequently, we get crappy poetry these days. Subsequently—since it takes too much energy to evaluate poetry soberly—it has become common to esteem really poopy writing as innovative, avant-garde, or something similarly vague.
Fun fact: poetry is a craft just like any other. It requires practice. It requires diligence. It requires work. It's not meant for everyone. It is definitely not meant for lazy writers.
While we're on the topic, punctuation never, ever in your inanest dreams is used to indicate "natural" pauses. Rather, punctuation is used to show the structure of thoughts.
My apologies: momentarily, I forgot that most thoughts don't have structure.
Dude, I am such a hater.
Sometimes, I feel a bit like Chirrratka. I just want a world of order.
I don't know how writers are supposed to do it, but, for the most part, each of my characters is just a thread, a small attempt at expressing some facet of myself. Obviously, some parts of myself have been inherited from those around me. Some parts of my characters are derived, plain and simple, from people I know. Altogether, I don't know how it's all supposed to work.
Regardless, it's been a fascinating, enjoyable process.
Even more so, I was recently chatting with a friend.
Once upon a time, I asked her to read Werbel to provide some input concerning whether I should finish Werbel or just move on to something else.
Recently, she insisted, at the very least, that I owe it to Werbel to finish the book.
In the conversation, I explained that Werbel is going to be my first practice book.
She asked why, then, was I asking if the story was worth finishing.
This was it; this was my striking realization: I used to be much more timid.
Don't you worry; I still have plenty of issues, but that strange, quiet fear is all but spent. I'm pretty tired most of the time (mostly my fault), but that's my main impediment nowadays.
Fear: I used to be consumed by fear, fed by fear, poisoned by fear, carried by fear, and crushed by fear.
I'm not. I'm not anymore. I'm not sure how else to express it. A lot of my circumstances haven't changed much, but the fear is gone. The consuming, poisoning, whispering dread is gone. It's pretty magical stuff.
God is good. He's infinitely boggling, but God is good.
I think it was something along the lines of deciding I want to be in control of my hands instead of gnawing them compulsively.
In other news, politicians are still dumb-dumbs.
In other other news, news is typically a sad place.
In other^3 news, Werbel is way too bloody slow, but he's trying, so I can't condemn him.
In other^4 news, I should probably start writing on my clipboard pages instead of typing because clipboard pages feel freer, messier—messy enough not to worry but rather just write.
I wrote a poem recently! It probably took me longer than a year, but I was still pleased; it was simple, rhyming, and metered.
I have a plethora of theories. One of them is that people tired of writing quality poetry, so they frivolously deemed it childish or something similarly vague. Consequently, we get crappy poetry these days. Subsequently—since it takes too much energy to evaluate poetry soberly—it has become common to esteem really poopy writing as innovative, avant-garde, or something similarly vague.
Fun fact: poetry is a craft just like any other. It requires practice. It requires diligence. It requires work. It's not meant for everyone. It is definitely not meant for lazy writers.
While we're on the topic, punctuation never, ever in your inanest dreams is used to indicate "natural" pauses. Rather, punctuation is used to show the structure of thoughts.
My apologies: momentarily, I forgot that most thoughts don't have structure.
Dude, I am such a hater.
Sometimes, I feel a bit like Chirrratka. I just want a world of order.
“What do you want from me?” choked Werbel.I know. I know. Maybe I'm a bit psychotic, but, honestly, I've pretty much fashioned each of my characters after myself, after all my conflicting, roiling desires: Jeremy and his mix of bravery and despair, Sturga and his mix of lightheartedness and bitterness, Mary and her venomous maternal instincts, Werbel and his youthful haphazardness, Rrraktotrrraka and his impatient curiosity, Chirrratka and his psychotic arrogance, Allison and her bold kindness, Jalek and his half-mature and half-ridiculous jokes, Rrrassiktchyackachrrr and his brooding plan to take over the world, Torm and his simple hope, Elenore and her wise constance, Jesse and his young fear, Alabaster and his angsty frustrations, and still so many more.
Chirrratka eyed him narrowly, silently. After a long pause, he replied, “I want every creature to occupy its proper rank in society. For the good of the whole, I want the lesser constituents to be subordinate and the greater to be superior. Is that too much to ask?” Turning away now and shouting to the cavern, “Have I set my sights too high? Am I like the fabled Prometheus, bringing fire down to mortals?” Turning back to Werbel, “No. I am a messenger of a greater order that will bring us that much closer to the gods!”
“You’re just bloody insane!”
“So heralds often seem,” said Chirrratka contemplatively before kicking Werbel in the stomach.
I don't know how writers are supposed to do it, but, for the most part, each of my characters is just a thread, a small attempt at expressing some facet of myself. Obviously, some parts of myself have been inherited from those around me. Some parts of my characters are derived, plain and simple, from people I know. Altogether, I don't know how it's all supposed to work.
Regardless, it's been a fascinating, enjoyable process.
Even more so, I was recently chatting with a friend.
Once upon a time, I asked her to read Werbel to provide some input concerning whether I should finish Werbel or just move on to something else.
Recently, she insisted, at the very least, that I owe it to Werbel to finish the book.
In the conversation, I explained that Werbel is going to be my first practice book.
She asked why, then, was I asking if the story was worth finishing.
This was it; this was my striking realization: I used to be much more timid.
Don't you worry; I still have plenty of issues, but that strange, quiet fear is all but spent. I'm pretty tired most of the time (mostly my fault), but that's my main impediment nowadays.
Fear: I used to be consumed by fear, fed by fear, poisoned by fear, carried by fear, and crushed by fear.
I'm not. I'm not anymore. I'm not sure how else to express it. A lot of my circumstances haven't changed much, but the fear is gone. The consuming, poisoning, whispering dread is gone. It's pretty magical stuff.
God is good. He's infinitely boggling, but God is good.
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