book notes #1

So far, I've written 6,8714 words and approximately 149 pages for my book.  Christmas kind of slowed me down and then I got out of the habit of writing daily.  I could be finished with the first draft by now if I never would have stopped.  Now, I'm finding it slightly difficult to get back into the mood of the story.  I'm also at a point where I don't know how to continue.  I had an original outline but things have changed slightly and now I'm not sure if continuing in the intended path will make any sense.  Frankly, I haven't given myself the time or energy to come up with a different direction.

So, I have to wonder, when you plan on writing something, how much should you stick to the plan and how much should you allow the story to tell itself?

I've always been a pretty big fan of natural, organically flowing material.  I've never been big into planning, whether it was with drawing, animating or writing.  Sure, I'll have a general outline of what I want to happen.  I think some structure is important, otherwise you'll run the risk of running way too long and getting off track of the intended message.  But, too much structure seems to stifle creativity and could possibly interrupt a certain flow as well.

I think the thing that drives me crazy is the unlimited possibilities that present themselves when creating something.  You can go anywhere, do anything.  While these endless possibilities are wonderful, they are also stressful because when you finally choose your path, you have to wonder if there was a better road out there.  Are you choosing the best possible scenario?  How will you ever know?  Art is an intricate maze of possibility.  There are trillions of ways to get out but which one will be the most gratifying?

As I write this story, there are several possibilities that are starting to sprout up.  I had originally intended the story to be about a guy who believes he is turning into a zombie.  I wanted to share the perspectives from the guy and his girlfriend.  Yet, as I wrote, I realized I was more inside the girl's head than the guy's.  It's actually turning more into her story than it is his and I don't know if that's good or bad.

I think there must be some reason why my head decided to dictate the story the way it did.  If this is my creativity taking over, should I be so quick to negate it by trying to sway myself back to my original plan?  Sometimes plans are good until you are knee deep into the situation you had so carefully planned out.  You're out in the trenches and you realize your plan no longer applies to your predicament.

The most appropriate solution is compromise.  I suppose I should put a loose leash on my outline.  I guess I'll try to follow the basic elements while allowing the story to tell itself.  I don't want it to feel manufactured.  I want it to flow.  I want the characters motivations and actions to be based on their experiences, conversations, feelings rather than just to get from point A to point B.

And the more I write, the more I'm having ideas, ideas that differ from the original plan.  Sure, that's a good thing.  There's no reason to stick to a plan if you come up with a better one but it also complicates things, causes things to have to be changed around.  Makes things messy.  Things are messy enough on their own.  And being such an amateur, these changes are scary.  My outline was safe and I felt good writing within the lines of what I knew I wanted to happen.  Exploring these new ideas, however, leave some situations open and unpredictable.

I guess I'm just scared.  Maybe this book has a lot of potential, some decent ideas, but if I don't execute it right, I'll fail and no one will ever believe I can write anything good again.  And I'll always wonder, "Well, if I would have done things differently, had the characters do one thing instead of the other, it might have made all the difference."  It's very complicated to try to unfold a story, especially when it doesn't come out how you intended, especially when you feel you've lost control of your own creation.  Then again, too much control is constricting.

All I can do is treat this first book as a learning experience.  Just get it done, make mistakes, learn from them and write another one and hope I can do better.

exquisite vampire

I just finished Breaking Dawn, the final book in the Twilight saga.

As per usual, when I watch a movie or read a book, I like to look up the reviews to see what other people thought.  Sometimes, they'll even bring up a topic about the book/movie that I'll find interesting.  It might ask a question I hadn't thought of or bring up a point that causes me to appreciate it more.  Sometimes, they might even answer a question or concern I have.

Well, the book got a lot of bad reviews.  Lots of accusations of bad writing, bad plot, bad characters...pretty much bad everything.  I started to feel bad for Stephenie Meyer because people are really trashing the book.  Not just that one, either, but the whole series.  Even though I feel bad, I can't not agree, at least somewhat, with the reviews.

Frankly, I didn't hate the book.  It kept me interested (mostly) and I was able to read it in a few days.  But, I went in having already read the first three and I knew I shouldn't expect anything groundbreaking or life-changing.  Pretty much my whole attitude toward the books have been that they are decent stories about vampires and love and that they are aimed toward preteen girls, whether that aim was intentional or not.  So, using my preteen girl mind, I took the books for what they were and enjoyed them.  They are safe, not asking you to think too much or feel too deeply.  Outwardly, they don't cause you to question people or relationships or life.  It's just good entertainment.

For some reason, it seems to me that books are judged much more harshly than movies.  Have you ever watched a Friday the 13th film and expected it to touch your heart or enrich your life?  Of course not.  The movies are just good watches.  So, why does every book, including the Twilight series, have to be a Shakespearean masterpiece?  Why should the author be punished for her imperfect prose?  I can't speak for Ms. Meyer, as I don't know her intentions while writing the books, but she probably wanted the books to be good and to touch people in their own way, but never thought they were going to be literary ambrosia.

And I'm not trying to make excuses for bad writing.  Obviously, the more crap we allow to be put into the world, the more people will absorb it and accept it and start expecting it.  We will gradually dumb ourselves down.  In fact, I'm sure we already have.  Just look at the reality television explosion.  They've replaced well written shows that could entertain, teach and enlighten.  But, I think there's different forms of entertainment out there.  I think all of those different forms of entertainment should be absorbed.  Sure, you can have some mindless fun but you should also try to educate yourself as well.  Watch a little Jersey Shore, then absorb a documentary.  Listen to Britney Spears and follow it up with some Beethovan.  Read Twilight and then check out Pride and Prejudice, which Twilight is loosely based on.

As I mentioned before, I feel bad for Stephenie Meyer.  No matter what her intentions for the books, I'm sure they are incredibly special to her, especially considering what they've managed to accomplish.  And to have people bash that must tarnish a bit of her happiness.  Then again, she's a multi-millionaire so she really shouldn't have anything to feel bad about.  Even if everyone thinks her work is crap, she's still cashing those checks.  It's just that, as a wannabe writer, I know how it is to put stuff out there and hope people will like it and when they don't, it's a let down, especially when your writing is extremely personal to you.  When people reject your work, it's almost like they are rejecting you.  And that hurts.  And, as a wannabe writer, I don't think I'm any more talented than Ms. Meyer.  So, if people think she sucks then I guess I do, too!  Of course, her books have been wildly successful so maybe that also means mine might be one day as well.  Lastly, as a wannabe writer who happens to be working on a novel, I know it's not easy to write a book.  So to be able to write something that's at least coherent and readable is an accomplishment itself.

And isn't entertainment subjective?  Not everyone is going to like the same thing.  Not everyone is going to hate the same thing.

I guess feeling sorry for Meyer is a reflection of my own insecurities.  If I ever get anything published or go the self-publishing route, I'm going to be terrified that I'll suck, that people will be repulsed by my horrid writing.  I'm terrified people will find out that I'm actually not talented at all, that I can't  handle anything more than an unorganized blog.  It's kind of funny because I actually found an editor willing to work on my novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month and now that I've found one, I'm too scared to actually work with him.  I don't want him to read my stuff and think it's crap, that I'm crap.

I suppose I really need to get over this self-loathing.  It's starting to get tired, I know.  I can't help it much, though.  But, hey, if I could make the kind of cash the Mormon vamp lady is making, I think I'd be able to deal a lot better.  In fact, I'm sure I'd feel pretty darn good about myself.  But, it'll never happen if I never submit the story to an editor, never have the guts to put my writing out there, put myself out there, believe in what I can do and share it with the world.

I guess I gotta suck it up and take a bite out of life.

See what I did there? 

fantastic head

"Everywhere you look, everywhere you turn
Illness is watching, waiting its turn..."
-Sufjan Stevens, I Want to be Well 

My brain has been twisting like a corkscrew.

In the past several weeks, I've heard from a lot of people that I should lighten up.  I absolutely agree with their observations.  I just don't know how.  At the risk of sounding embarrassingly cheesy, it's hard to lighten up when your world is full of darkness.  Of course, that could all be a matter of perspective.  Maybe I'm making things dark for myself.  Maybe my depression is all my fault.  Maybe I am playing the victim.  But if that's the case, why am I doing it and how can I stop?

Back in college, my horse-faced counselor laid out some labels for me to ponder.  He said I put people into three categories: Victim (which is me), Executioner (which at the time was my roommate but applies to anyone I dislike) and Savior (which at the time was Chasity, one of the only people I grew close to in college, but applies to anyone I like).  He said that I played the Victim and sought out Executioners and Saviors.  I took it to mean he felt I was responsible for all of my misery, that I had somehow constructed my chronic sadness by casting characters who fit certain roles to play out my misery like it was a stage play.  Sitting in the chair, staring at this man with the mile-long face, his gray ponytail dangling behind his neck, his irregular and yellow teeth glossy under the florescent lights, I thought to myself, "It's all my fault?  It's all my fault?"

I got up, left and never went back.

I was going through the hardest time of my life and this man who was supposed to help me was just making everything worse, telling me I had brought it all on myself, that I was the one to blame.  Looking back, he very well could have been correct.  I think a lot of times I probably do make people out to be the enemy.  Sometimes I do act like I'm a victim, like the entire world is against me.  Although he might have been right, his delivery was devastating.  I was more fragile than I normally am, trying to deal with a host of changes and it seems he should have been more sensitive to my plight.  I wish he would have broke everything down for me a bit more gently.  Of course, even now I guess it sounds like I'm making my counselor sound like the enemy.  I'm not saying he was, just that dropping such a bomb in such a cold way probably wasn't the best method of trying to get through to me.

Or maybe I'm just truly crazy and anyone that doesn't coddle me winds up being an Executioner in my stage play.

Fade out.

New scene.

There are a lot of times when I feel like there is something legitimately wrong with me.  Either I have some kind of mental illness or depression or something but I am just not normal nor do I feel like I fit in with other people.  Or that maybe I was clinically depressed or repressing some kind of tragic childhood trauma that made me the way I am right now.  I was looking for something, any kind of excuse to explain why I am so dysfunctional.  There had to be a reason, a moment or phrase or person or action that shaped me into the broken person I've become.

I suppose I was really just trying to take the easy way out, seeking some disease or mental disorder to absolve me of all responsibility, a defect in my genetic makeup that would easily explain all my craziness.  But, I don't know if there is any.  I haven't been formally diagnosed with depression, although I think that might be more probable than any other explanation.  I have to wonder, though, if I don't have a mental disorder and it's not necessarily depression that makes me so empty inside, what is the cause?  Am I doing this to myself?  And if so, why?

animals are cut in two

"the same thing that happened to the animals
will have to happen to you..."
-half-handed cloud, animals are cut in two

I'm experiencing carnivorous inclinations.

Last October marked three years since I became a vegetarian.  It's been a rough three years.  Well, sort of.  There's a part of me that wants to say it's been easy because I don't really crave meat and haven't for a long time now.  But, the hard part is the alternatives.  There are very few choices for me.  Yes, I'm a vegetarian.  And yes, I don't like vegetables.

So, what does that leave me?

A whole lot of junk food.

It was easier living in Savannah.  There were more markets and more meatless alternatives out there.  Now that I'm back in this hick town, however, there's one grocery store that caters to the carnivores.  If you're not down with meat and potatoes, you're screwed.  I didn't think about my lack of food choices so much when I was back in Georgia but it's become glaringly apparent now that there just isn't anything good or healthy to eat in this town.  And this is one of the reasons why I've gained so much weight over the past year.

It also doesn't help when I go to restaurants where there are very few vegetarian-friendly choices, unless you want a salad.  Well, I don't want a salad and I don't want a bunch of tasteless steamed vegetables plopped on a plate.  Same with fast food joints.  Yes, I know I shouldn't even be going to a fast food place but sometimes, when you're hanging out with someone and they wanna get something to eat, that's the only choice there is, especially here.  So, I usually end up getting fries and a soda and then feel like garbage for the rest of the day because carbohydrates and carbonated water do not make a meal.

And this is where I feel conflicted. 

Sometimes, I just think it would be easier if I ate meat again.  Maybe I'd even lose weight.  If I could eat a more substantial meal, like chicken and fish and a nice side dish, I wouldn't feel so unsatisfied and wouldn't reach for fattening foods so much.  I'd have more options at restaurants.  Things would be easier.  But I suppose the things in life that you believe in don't always take you down the easiest of roads.  Does that mean they are worth the sacrifices?  Sometimes yes.  Sometimes no.  I guess it all depends on how strongly you feel about whatever it is you're having to give things up for.

Yet, it seems every time I start leaning toward the lean meats, I experience something that strengthens my veggie resolve.  Usually it's me witnessing one of those darn ASPCA commercials featuring the ruthless Sarah McLachlan.  She'll really give your heart a swift kick to its balls, I tell you what.  Or seeing a screen grab from PETA's "Meet Your Meat" videos on my YouTube page.  Or it's simply just me thinking about why I started being a vegetarian in the first place, how I wanted to not be a part of the ugly business of animal torture and slaughter.  Not to mention all the terrible stuff they inject into the animals that then go into you when you eat those animals.  Ugh, and if you've ever seen the infamous chicken nugget pink tube of goo picture, that should convince you to at least step back and think about what you're actually eating.

Unfortunately, during my time as a vegetarian, I've started to learn that meat alternatives really aren't that great for you, either.  I've been informed that many soy-based foods are pretty bad for you, especially the genetically modified soy.  Which is in pretty much everything I eat.  I've heard it messes with your hormones and causes estrogen production and all sorts of nasty things.  Being a dude, especially a fat dude, I already have to worry about man boobs and I don't need any help from my morning bite of vegetarian sausage.

That's if you can believe all you hear.  Of course vegetarians would tell you meat is bad for you.  Of course one mushroom based meat alternative company will tell you that soy sucks as well.   Eventually, someone else will come out and say shrooms aren't the way to go, either. 

So, if all of what everyone says is true, I'm actually screwed either way.  I can go back to meat to avoid the dangers of soy or I can keep myself-meat free to sideswipe all the additives.  The best option would be to eat organic meats that should be free of all the hormones and ground up extras like skin and eyeballs and...testicle balls.  But, as I said, I live in a hick town and those organic meats aren't readily available and the ones that are available are more expensive.  It seems hopeless.  It doesn't matter what I choose because my hormones are off and my internal faculties are most likely fried.

I just feel like if I ever did go back to eating meat, I would feel terribly guilty.  I'd feel like I failed at something, that I let myself down and the animals (yep, I know that might sound silly).  It's not like I think me not eating meat will change anything.  I know it won't.  I guess I just feel better knowing that I'm not actively participating in the torture and slaughter of animals.

For those of you just tuning in, let me say that my being a vegetarian is a personal decision.  I am not out to convert the world to vegetarianism.  I do not care if you eat meat.  I will not think less of you nor do I think higher of myself for not eating meat.  I have no problem with those who make their living raising and selling animals that will eventually be killed for food.  I don't even necessarily have a problem with animals being killed for food.  My problem is how it's done.  I don't like the fact that most animals nowadays are born into suffering until they are ripe enough to be slaughtered.  They spend their lives in filth and fear until they are rounded up and split down the middle and that's not something I can be okay with or ignore.

It's quite obvious to me that I'll need to further investigate the pros and cons of both vegetarianism and carnivorism.  It's also quite obvious to me that this will be quite the struggle for some time to come.  The funny thing is if we started farming people for food, I don't think I'd feel nearly as bad biting into a baby burger as I would a piece of veal.

Just kidding.

maybe.

tech(no logic)al

Because things can never be too easy for me, ya know?

Let's just take it from the top, although I've already mentioned a few of my technological troubles before.  So, you know that I ordered the Wacom Cintiq a few months ago.  Well, actually, before we even get into that, I had to save up for the Wacom Cintiq, which took a few months.  Okay, so a few months of anticipation while I saved up.  Then, I ordered it.

$1,999.00.

But, it was on back order indefinitely.  I really had no other choice but to wait it out because there really is no other tablet monitor that's as good as the Cintiq (that I know of).  So, I tried to do some research to find out what was taking so long on everything and there were some rumors here and there and nothing really substantial that I could really rely on.

Roughly two months of agonizing waiting later, it ships.  It gets here in two days and everything is all well and good.  Except, now I need all the software to animate with and an upgraded computer that would be able to handle it all.  I go ahead and order the software (Adobe Creative Suite 5: Production Premium) on Cyber Monday because it was the best deal I could get.

$1,650.00.

It actually shipped and arrived at my house in two days.  It was fine.  All I needed was to get my computer checked out.

So, I take my ancient Sony computer tower to a computer repair shop in town and I'm met by this ginger kid (don't salivate, Katrina Storm, I think he's underage).  I tell him my situation and ask if my computer could be upgraded to handle all the stuff I would need or if it would just be cheaper to buy a new one.  As soon as he opened up the tower, he chuckled and said the tower was no good and it would be cheaper to buy another.  He then offers to build one with the specific qualifications I would need.  Asking price?

Roughly $600.00.

He said he would need to order the parts for it and once they came in, he could assemble it in about two days.  The whole process would take about a week.  I tell him to hold off until I can conference with my mom.  Later that night, I talk to her and ask if I should go ahead or wait until I have more funds saved up.  I had just made two large purchases and wasn't sure if I should proceed with another.  She told me to go ahead since I'd need it anyway.  She then offered to go to the computer repair place after she went grocery shopping (the place is right next to the grocery store) and tell them to go ahead and do it.

I come home from work the next day and Mom says she told them to go ahead.  Great.

A week later, she calls them while I'm at work and inquires about the progress.  They tell her they were waiting for our go ahead.  Uuuhhh.  We thought we had already done that.  So, she tells them again to go ahead and do it.  So, I was kind of irritated because I could have already had it by then but there was some kind of communication mix-up somewhere in the fold.  It worried me because this ginger kid, although seemingly intelligent, seemed slightly air-headed as well.  I wasn't sure he'd do a great job assembling my computer.

And then Christmas came and I knew that would delay the process even longer.

Earlier this week, after I got off of work, Mom told me the computer repair people had called and said my computer was ready.  She went to pick it up the next day but they told her they would prefer if the ginger kid who built it would just deliver it to our home and set it up for us.  Okay, fine, whatever.  So, they made an appointment for him to deliver it the next day at 5:00.  I got off work at 4:00, so that worked out great.

Well, the next day, I get home at 4:30 and excitedly start straightening my room for the ginger kid to deliver my brand new baby.  I get a call from the computer people.  The ginger kid had an appointment in Enterprise and was running late and wouldn't be able to make it to my house that night.  He got off at 5:00 every day and I was going to get off at 5:00 the next day as well so I assumed I wouldn't be able to get it the next day either 'cause we'd both be at work and would get off at the same time.  The owner of the repair shop says the ginger kid will call me around 5:30 the next day and we'd take it from there.  Fine.

Pretty disappointed.  Pretty anxious.

So, the next day comes and I get off work and Mom says they called and for me to call the ginger kid back and he'd deliver the computer that night.  If I were able to glow, I would have.

I call him and tell him to come on over.  He says it would take about twenty minutes.  It took about forty-five because he got lost.

He hooked up the tower to the Cintiq and then installs Windows 7 for me as well as Firefox and some anti-virus software.  He also has to install a...wireless driver...I think it's called?... so I can connect to the Internet.  I didn't realize he would need to do that so when he asked if I still had the wireless CD for my current wireless device, I said I had no idea where it was.  He then tried to download one but when that didn't work, he went back tot he shop and got another, which took about another twenty or so minutes.  He also helped me install all the Adobe programs.  The process took a little under three hours.  Fortunately, my irritation/unease about his abilities slowly wore off as we made small chit chat while he camped out underneath my desk, connecting wires and opening up the new computer tower to do this or that.  Turns out, he wasn't too bad at all. 

Final price tag?

The roughly $600.00 turned into a bowel busting $735.00.

And while we are at it, let's add in the cost of a new desk on which I would be animating: $180.00.

Grand total:  $4,564.00.

Certainly quite the investment, no?  The good part is I actually have about half of it paid off already.  All of that waiting around for my stuff to show up kind of worked in my favor because I was able to keep working and earning enough money to pay for all this crap.  It certainly wasn't fun knowing how much all of this would cost.  I could have gotten braces for that kind of money or used it toward paying my student loans but what was done had to be done.  As I said, these programs and the Cintiq are top-notch and there really isn't an equivalent.  And again, it's an investment.

It's just so weird sitting down and being able to animate again.  The first night I had everything set up, I was too tired to really do anything.  I spent all the next day playing around in the programs.  They had all been updated two or three times since I graduated so the layouts were quite different.  That coupled with my craptacular memory served to hinder my knowledge of the programs a bit but hopefully with more practice, I'll get all the way to decent!

I'm not a patient person.  This whole setup has been close to a year in the making.  But, it's here and I have it all and in a few more months and a giant hit to my banking account, it will all be paid off.  But, the really hard part is next.  Now that I have everything I'm going to need, I have to do something with it.  I have to start producing some awesome work to justify the price tag.  I didn't get all this stuff for spits and giggles.  This is going to hopefully further my artistic expression and land me a good job.  That thought it quite scary.  All this time, I had to relay on other people to have this happen.  I had to wait for the Wacom company to get their stuff together and send me a Cintiq.  I had to wait for this ginger kid to build a computer for me.  But, now it's in my hands.  There's nowhere left to turn and no one to blame it on when things go off course.

It's all on me now.

I'm scared.  Nervous.  Ready.

2010 book/movie list

Last year, I posted all of the books and movies I enjoyed (or did not enjoy) in 2009.  I thought it would be nice to do it again this year!

When I listed all of the books I read, I was ashamed.  Only five.  I could blame it on being busy with school/stress etc. but there really wasn't an excuse.  So, I made a resolution to read at least two books a month in 2010.  That's twenty-four books.  Way better than five.  I thought that seemed pretty reasonable, considering my work schedule and getting back into animating.  Unfortunately, I didn't make my goal.  But, I read almost the entire year.  Some books took me two months to complete (because they were so bad) but I pushed through and the important thing was that I continuously read.

My goal for next year is to complete the Harry Potter series.  I read the first three when they came out but then I stopped for some reason so I'm basically going to have to start all over!  I know, I'm way behind but the books just look so huge and it seems like I'd really have to be in the mood to read them and my interests were always elsewhere so I have put them off but I will put them off no longer!

It's OK to Dance

Christ, No Mas

Expensive gifts and cards.  Family gatherings with estranged relatives.  Irritating cold.  Irritating people.  Moldy mistletoe and awkward exchanges.  Dead turkeys.  Dead hopes.  Commercialism and competitiveness.  24 hours of A Christmas Story.  Oh yeah, And Jesus is thrown in there somewhere, too.

This, my dears, is Christmas.

The worst time of the year.

Work
For me, Christmas hasn't been nice in years.  A big part of that happened when I started working.  Retail not only reveals the true evil of humanity but it really rears its fugly head during Christmas.  Tensions are high with the expectation to deliver nice gifts to friends/family/baby mamas coupled with the proclivity to procrastination.  They come in at the last minute and expect every article of clothing in every size waiting for them, perfectly folded and eighty percent off the suggested retail price.  Then, they expect coupons at the register because they were too irresponsible to remember to bring in their own.  And when we don't have those coupons or those shirts or the size they need, they get pissed and take it out on us.

In my town, there are really only two places to shop.  Where I work and Wal-Mart.  All I heard this season was, "Well, all I have to go is go to Wal-Mart and I'll be done with my Christmas shopping," or "I just came from Wal-Mart and it was a nightmare!"  Of course, the ones who just came from there are the ones who come up to me.  They are the most worked up because they've been waiting in long lines (out of the twenty or so registers they have, only four are open, which is better than their usual two).  They've just come from a fistfight with three other middle aged moms with cigarette breath and gray mullets over the last Hannah Montana poster/Salvia laced lip gloss combo pack.  And now they're coming into our store, tired and angry and expecting to be waited on like their aren't five hundred other people scrambling to purchase the last ill-fitting shirt on the table.  The sad part is it's not much different from any other time of the year.

And there is no Christmas cheer.  This year alone, I've had old women get nasty with me, yell at me, tell me I was lazy and call me fat.  There has been no "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Holidays!"  It's only been, "This isn't ringing up on sale like the sign says!" or "What do you mean you don't have this in stock?  Why  not?!"  It doesn't help that it's our store's policy to not only allow the customer to abuse us, but to stand there and smile and take it.  I can't tell you how much it pains me to let people get away with such rude behavior when really they need a nice swift kick in the butt and to be told off one good time.

Family
I don't even know these people.  Every year, it's another uncomfortable visit with family that I only see specifically for Christmas and no other time.  I have no connection to them other than name and a little bit of blood.  Other than that, I don't have anything in common with them nor do I care to.  They are all in different stages of life than I am.  For one, there's a large age gap.  Everyone close to my age has kids now so any commonalities we once shared have been negated by the kids and the kids are too young for me to tolerate.  Everyone else is older than I am so there's no common ground there.

The only people I like other than my nuclear family is my grandmothers.  But, as the years pass by, it's getting harder to ignore the decline in their health.  It's always sad to see the toll the year has taken on them.  One is becoming senile while the other is becoming frail.

It's also a shame to see everyone else being such typical white trash.  I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth.  They all drink and smoke and have low wage jobs that are barely getting them by.  None of them went to college, if they graduated from high school at all, partly because they couldn't afford it and partly because they probably just didn't have that drive to become better than where they came from.  They shack up with other white trash families in the neighborhood and before you know it, we have another unexpected pregnancy and the cycle continues.  And because neither parent is educated and/or has a good-paying job nor is out of their late teens, the child will essentially be raised by children.  All the money will go toward beer, cigarettes and scrappy dogs that they can't take care of.

Of course, I'm not much better off than these people.  I went to college but I also had to take out exorbitant loans to pay for it and it's slowly coming back to bite me in the butt because I also have a low wage job and those loans are coming due.  But, at least I like to think that I often dream of better things for myself.  I suppose it's presumptuous of me to assume they don't but if they did, why would they then go out and knock up some dumb slut, thus cementing their skank status?

Judging?  Of course I'm judging.  It's what I do.  But don't think I don't judge myself just as harsh.  I'm overweight and balding and at twenty-five I'm working in a low-class retail clothing store where I have to put up with people's crap every single day and I'm not exceptionally talented or particularly smart.  I just happen to take hygiene a bit more serious than the rest of my relatives.

The Reason for the Season
I suppose I'm not the only one who wasn't exactly thrilled for Christmas this year.  In fact, I haven't been for several years now.  I guess it's almost a given as you grow older.  You stop believing in Santa and as you make your own money, you buy whatever you want whenever you want instead of having to wait until the end of the year.  It was almost nice, that excruciating anticipation and near nirvana-esque moment of tearing off that wrapping paper and finding yourself in possession of the item(s) you've been coveting for months, spending the day drunk on turkey and toys.

But, the older you get, the less fun it becomes.  Suspense is slacked.  Surprises are scarce.  Because, let's be honest, Christmas is about presents.

Of course, that's not what Christmas should be about.  For Christians, it should be all about Jesus.  Although the date is wrong, it's a commemoration of his birth.  I mean, he's kind of a big deal.  Without Him, we'd all be belly flopping into the lake of fire.  And if you're not a Christian, then the time should be about family.  It's one of the only times of year when you can get together with all of your relatives, especially those who have been fortunate enough to scatter and find a life somewhere else.   That is, if you like your relatives.

But, as for me, Christmas really never had to do with any of those things.

I think it's hard to be all about Jesus when you didn't grow up with Jesus being the center of your life.  My parents aren't particularly religious and never were.  They believe in God but I think that's about the extent of it.  We never went to church or prayed before a meal.  I don't even know if they are saved.  I don't even know if they know how to be saved.  And while I'm down with Jesus, He's usually far from my mind while I'm clutching my new XBox or other highly sought after electronic device.

I hate when people use the expression "remember the reason for the season."  I think people just say that to feel better about themselves as they go for that pair of jeans or purse.  As long as we have Jesus in the back (way, way back) of our minds as we max out our credit cards, then it's all good!  If we really remember the reason for the season, then all this gift-giving wouldn't be as big of a deal as it is.

I feel bad because I don't know what Christmas means to me anymore.  I've had a falling out with my faith this year and I've never been about family so where does this leave me?  How can Christmas be special without gifts or God or grandmothers?  How can I find that spark of excitement that seemed to have fizzled out so long ago?  It seems every year I become more jaded, more numb to the festivities, to family, to my self.  I guess I'll need to make some changes.  Calm down, slim down, appreciate what I have, get a better job, confidence, a nice wardrobe, tolerance for obnoxious people and love.  Love for God, for others and for myself.  And someone to love me.  And I'll need a heart to make all of this possible.

Man, Santa's got a tall order to fill for next year.

Birthday Bulge

"If you don't eat yourself, you will explode instead..."
-Goldfrapp, Eat Yourself

So, yes, my birthday was this past Saturday.  And it sucked.  That's pretty much all there is to it.  I had to work and working in that hellhole always ruins my day.  I'm not going to get into it because it seems like every year I always bemoan my birthday and it's just tired now.  I know I'm slowly (or not so slowly) turning into one of those people who always has to criticize Thanksgivings and Christmases, who has to be a buzz kill and take a steamy dump on everyone's holiday spirit and I don't wanna be that douche.

And the most annoying part?  I had to fight to get some time off to do some kind of holiday shopping.  You'd think, working in retail, that getting my Christmas shopping done wouldn't be a big deal but when you're in that kind of environment all day and you finally get off work, the last thing you want to do is to jump back in that environment in a different location.  So, since my supervisor wouldn't give me my birthday off, I asked for two days during the prior week.  She wouldn't give that to me, either, so I had to give her my pimp hand until she finally relented.

So, after having to claw and scratch to get some time off, I went out of town with my mom to finally get started on my Christmas shopping.  I bought some things for family and bought some stuff for myself as well.  Let me say, it was incredibly depressing trying on clothes.  First of all, those harsh lights are terrible.  I saw every pore, every pimple, every wrinkle all over my face.  I was hideous.  And then, I tried on shirt after shirt, coat after coat, sweater after sweater and none of them fit.

I've gained so much weight since I've graduated.  I've talked about this before but let's rehash it, shall we?  While I've pretty much gained weight everywhere, it has mostly concentrated to my stomach.  So, when I'm trying on these articles of clothing, if I go to an extra large, the shoulder seams hang off my shoulders and the torso pretty much swallows me.  Go to a large (and sometimes medium) and it fits great in the shoulders but it's too tight around my midsection.  So, I can't win.  And my mom doesn't help because she thinks everything should be big and baggy.  She says all my shirts are too short and too tight if they aren't hanging down to my knees so she obviously can't be trusted with fashion advice.

I just wish I could go into a store and be able to pick out anything and leave.  I wish I could be a shirt and jeans guy.  I layer a lot.  It's not because that's how I like to dress.  Imagine being a fatty wearing two to three shirts (and/or a jacket when it's cold) at any given time.  It's not comfortable.  But, I have to so I can cover up all my fat.  Shirts are made so thin these days that if I were to just wear a shirt, the flimsy material would cling to all my fat rolls.  So, I have to layer so try to provide some decent coverage/camouflage.  Plus, I'm hot-natured so all those layers don't help that whole "fat sweaty guy" stereotype.

Everything looks good hanging on the racks but when I put it over my lumpy body, it looks skewed and warped like an acid trip on my body.  And as I slowly button the shirt, once it gets to my belly and the fabric starts to stretch and I have to suck in to button the jeans and my thighs are screaming, I get depressed.  I want to give up on put on some elastic pajama bottoms and call it a day.  And eat a whole pizza.  Which makes me fatter.  And worsens everything.

It's funny because I know how to lose weight.  I've done it off an on my entire teen years and two separate times I lost a major amount of weight.  And yet, here I am, almost as big as I ever was, starting over, back to zero.  And I can do it again but it just sucks because once I lose all this weight, I'll only be getting back to where I was before I started gaining.  It'll be an accomplishment but I just think of how it won't amount to much because I still won't be where I want to be and I'll have to push myself even harder and be even more disciplined to push past my thinnest and get even thinner.

Bottom line is I will probably always struggle.  I will never be satisfied.  I will gain and lose and gain and lose until I die.  I am too vacant inside and so I fill up on food and that will never change until something else comes along and occupies that void.  I just don't know what that thing will be.  I certainly can't imagine anything taking the place of pasta.

Happy birthday, chunky.  Go have another slice of cake to make yourself feel better and deal with it some other day.  For now, let the food soothe you.  You know it's wrong and it's only temporary but when you're in pain, you don't care about the consequences.  You need that reprieve, that quick fix, that numbness.  You require it to make it through the day.  You need it so bad it becomes all you are.

You consume so much until you're the one being consumed. 

You're eating your problems, eating your fears and insecurities, slowly eating yourself into nothing.  Oh, you'll expand all right but you're just withering inside, smothering everything good, thinning up and drying out until you're brittle and break into thousands of shards.  But, it's all you know.  You're comfortable in your gluttony because it works, however temporary.  And what's the alternative?  If you don't bury it down, it'll erupt within you, take over your body and mind and mouth and you'll simply explode all over everyone and bring them down with your anger, fear and hatred.  They'll see you for who you really are.  And you can't have that.  No, not just yet.

Writing My First Novel

Well, National Novel Writing Month is now over and I am happy to say that I not only met the goal of writing 50,000 words in thirty days, but surpassed it.  You can take a look to the right side of your screen to see my total word count.  It feels good to have pumped out so much material in such a short amount of time.  I'm exhausted, relieved, happy, and nervous about what I've done and the future of this story I've written.  Actually, I'm still writing it.  I haven't quite finished, although I am pretty close. 

It feels weird to come home from work and not have a deadline to meet.  For the past month, I've literally come home from work, taken a nap, pooped, and then wrote until bed time.  And in some ways, I've gotten used to it.  Now, things feel slower, calmer.  And now, it's going to take some time to get used to that as well.

Thoughts on National Novel Writing Month
I first heard about National Novel Writing Month a year or so ago.  I thought it was a pretty interesting idea but I was pretty busy with school so I didn't have the time or energy to dedicate to the project.  Jumping to last month, I realized I wanted to take on the challenge.  Because I've been working on my memoir for the past 3+ years, I figured I needed a literary kick in the behind to kick start my writing again.  So, I decided to write a novel in thirty days, not only to see if I could do it, but to really get my writing juices flowing.

The only problem was I remembered about the project a good week before it began.  And I had no concept.

I had a short story brewing in my head for a while and I wondered if I could expand it into a novel.  I realized I would have to because that short story was the only story I had going on.  So, on November first, I took my concept and began to write.  I wasn't necessarily concerned about it being great because it was, after all, an experiment, just to see if I could do it.

And the argument that most, if not all, of the novels written during National Novel Writing Month are not going to be great is what a lot of people use to criticize the project.  Some people say it's just more unpublishable trash thrown into the world and a big waste of time.  I disagree.  The website tells you straight out that the goal of the project is not to create something wonderful or life-changing.  They tell you the novel will probably be crap.  And you know what?  It's okay.  The goal is not to have this polished piece of literary ambrosia.  The goal is to write.  And, if you're a writer, I think you can understand how hard it is just to write sometimes.  Writers often worry about creating a good story, sure, but I think a lot of writers also worry about just sitting down and pounding something out.  Writer's block sucks and probably affects every writer at some point.

Plus, writers, and people in general, always tend to say, "I'd like to write a novel but I don't have the time, resources, energy, etc..."  I think people tend to forget they lack the motivation as well.  Writing a novel just isn't as important as getting to work/school/rehab on time.  Writing a novel isn't as big of a priority as paying the bills or waxing your car and/or bush.  Writing a novel isn't as important as putting food on the table. 

So, for a writer who suffers from writer's block or that regular person who doesn't necessarily write all the time but wants to explore that inner novelist, National Novel Writing Month is the perfect excuse to sit down and just write.  There are no prizes except for a few small goodies and the feeling of actually having written a novel.  There are no penalties for not winning.  Basically, there is no pressure.  There is a goal and there is encouragement and then there is you.  Even if you don't make it to 50,000 words, the fact that you started is a step in the right direction.  The fact that you sat down and wrote every day in a step in the right direction.

So, yes, my novel is not good.  But, that's okay because this is only the first draft and it can become something good.  And if it does become good, who knows, it might start a nice career for me as a writer.  But, I never would have written this if it weren't for National Novel Writing Month.  It just goes to show that you never know what could happen, what something can turn into, if you just give it a shot.  Plus, I now feel like I can finish my memoir faster than I would normally.  If I can pull a novel out of thin air in thirty days, I should be more than able to complete my memoir (that I already have plenty of source material for) fairly quickly.

And that is why I don't think National Novel Writing Month is a waste.  It is merely a tool to get writers to write.  They say everyone has one good novel in them, even people who don't write.  Maybe this is that opportunity for non-writers to get that novel out and for writers to explore something different or just get motivated to create something at all.

The Process of Writing My Novel
As I said, my novel is a short story concept that I came up with a long time ago.  Because I am not very creative, I couldn't really think of another idea for the project so I just said, "What the heck," and sat down and starting writing with that idea in my head.  The first few days were pretty hard for me because I really had to get into the rhythm of writing again.  Then, I had to get into the rhythm of writing from someone else's perspective.  From two people's perspective, to be more exact.  Not only did I have to get back into the swing of things writing wise, but I had to somehow come up with a way to stretch my already thin concept into a flippin' novel.  The anxiety of having to do that pretty much clogged up my creativity and I almost abandoned the project the first week in.

But, I decided to press on.  As stated, the fact that bad writing is in some ways encouraged reassured me that I could go on, that whatever I pulled out of my butt would be satisfactory for now because all the project is focused on is quantity.  Just get those words out, even if they are crazy.  So, I did.  I wrote and really tried to let the story tell itself.

Every time I've written a piece of fiction, I've always had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen throughout the story.  Details get muddled in the overall arc but I pretty much know what's going to happen in the beginning, middle and end.  I try not to let these ideas become concrete in my head, however, because when I begin to write, I want to do it organically.  I don't want the story to have to bend to the will of the events I have already conceived but rather use those events to steer the story in a decent direction.  Basically, I try to keep the story from swerving off the road but I don't try to dictate every turn.  I want these characters to be real enough that they'll begin making their own decisions, plotting their own path in the lives that I've conveniently provided for them.

Side note:  This is where I get messed up when writing.  A part of me wants to be very planned out and meticulous.  This is how you can provide excellent foreshadowing and tight pacing.  Yet, I don't want it to feel calculated.  If I remember correctly, Stephen King says in his book On Writing, "…knowing the story wasn’t necessary for me to begin work. I had located the fossil. The rest, I knew, would consist of careful excavation."  I like the idea of stories being there and writers just happening to be the lucky people who get to find them and put them on paper.  It makes it feel more real, like they were meant to be and meant to be heard.  Yet, as I said, without careful planning, writing a story could lead to a lot of getting sidetracked and pacing problems.  So, I suppose I'll have to continue finding a middle ground of letting the story tell itself while simultaneously having some hand in how it unfolds.

And as I wrote my novel, I started to see that, yes, these people were beginning to take shape, form their own opinions and take their own direction.  And as one thing led to another, I realized that the skimpy story was beginning to flesh itself out without much help from me.  And the fear that I would run out of material way before I hit 50,000 words began to fade away.  And here I am at 51,000+ words and I still have quite a bit more to write before I finish.

The novel is about zombies.  I know this comes as a huge shock to many people who know me.  Well, as it's my first foray in novel writing, I thought I would try to make it easy on myself and write something I know well and write something I thought I would have fun with.  I know zombies.  Zombies are fun.  But, as I was writing, I wondered, "What else am I trying to say?" I think if a story doesn't connect with people on a deeper level than just surface level zombie stuff, no one is really going to enjoy it.  Even if they do, it will be easily forgettable.  It needs to resonate somehow.  And I think that's a big part of what makes the  novel weak. 

Another side note:  First of all, there's very little action.  Secondly, it almost reads like my blog.  There's a whole lot of introspection and psychological mumbo jumbo.  I guess that just goes back to writing about what I know.  I almost feel like people would be surprised, and possibly disappointed, to find out it's more of a drama or psychological portrait of two people rather than some gut munching blood fest.  Yes, there's blood.  Yes, there's gore.  But it's not on every other page.

When I began to write, I didn't really know what I was trying to convey other than the initial premise.  I realize now that I can inject all sorts of my own personal pain and social commentary into it but what do I choose?  Where do I go?  What statement am I trying to make?  That will be the biggest question I'll have to answer once I finish up the story and then jump back in for the second draft.

I'm very hard on myself.  I don't think the novel is very good yet there's a drive to finish, that well-you've-come-this-far attitude that makes me want to complete it.  Plus, just because I don't particularly like it doesn't mean others won't.  Plus, this is the first draft.  Of course it won't be good!  That doesn't mean it can't be great later.  I suppose I'm just worried that because I don't like it much now, I don't see how I will like it later, ya know?  It's not a case of turning something good into something great.  It's a case of trying to polish a turd, in my humble opinion.  I'm not sure I can do it.  But, the drive I have to get something published is very strong in me and I really want to get this book out there just so I can have an actual physical book written by me in my hand.  And that seems a little dangerous.  I definitely don't want to ruin my reputation as a writer before it even begins.  I don't want to hand people a crap book and then expect them to throw money at me when I write ten more books.  No, I feel a lot of pressure because if this book isn't good, no one will want to read anything else I write.  And because I don't even like this book, how do I expect others to?  I wonder if it's even worth the multiple revisions it will have to go through to see the light of day or if I should just shelve it and move on to something else.

I read somewhere once where someone said you should write a novel and then throw it in the trash.  Then, write a second novel.  That second novel will be the one that counts.  It makes sense to me because when you do anything for the first time, it's more of a learning experience than anything.  And learning experiences often aren't pretty.

I guess I have some choices to make.  I have to finish the novel and then decide if it's worth my time to revise.  I'm scared because I don't consider myself to really be a fiction writer.  I barely consider myself a writer at all.  But, if I were to call myself a writer, I'm more of a nonfiction writer or an essayist.  I feel my strengths come from writing about real-life situations and my feelings about them.  It's an entirely different world when you have to make up situations and trying to figure out other people's feelings about them.  Plus, I have to recognize that my own crippling insecurities are at work here.  I've never been confident in my writing abilities, fiction or nonfiction.  I get a good bit of support and it means the world to me and it's only then that I feel I'm actually decent (that is not me fishing for compliments, I promise, so don't compliment me on my writing abilities, please!)  But, it goes beyond writing.  I'm insecure about everything involving me so I guess I should just get over it and show me stuff to someone. 

I just have this thing about other people's expectations of me.  For some reason, I always feel there's this hype about my abilities.  I'll draw a picture for someone and then suddenly they tell people and everyone thinks I'm this great artist and they want me to do stuff for them and I feel like their expectations are so high that I can never meet those expectations and then I'll disappoint them and they'll think badly of me.  Same with writing.  I show something I've written and suddenly everyone thinks I'm this wonderful writer (all because of hype, of course, not from the actual material itself) and then people expect me to write these epics that I honestly don't think I'm capable of.  I'm quite a mess.

If I've learned nothing else, I've learned that one shouldn't underestimate novelists.  It is a freaking hard job.  It's so much more complicated than you'd think.  You never just sit there and write for a few hours and you have a story worth selling (well, it probably doesn't happen too often).  There's a lot that goes into it and I have found that out the hard way.  And I'm not even in the thick of it yet.  I don't know what the future holds for this novel but I'd like to think I'm going to continue working on it until I feel it's good enough or I'll continue working on it until I think it can't be saved.  Either way, I've got a lot more work to do.