book notes #3

I finished writing my novel last Friday night.  Because I had the day off, I dedicating it to finishing.  I will admit that I probably rushed it a little bit but that's what the second draft is for, eh?

It feels good to know I wrote a book.  It's bittersweet, though.  Anyone can write a book.  Not too many people can write a good one.  Am I one of the good ones?  I suppose time will tell.  For now, all I can do is try to make it as good as I can within my....uh, I hesitate to say...talents.  I think one of the reasons it's taken me so long to write this book and even more so, what's taken me so long to write my memoir, is because I am absolutely terrified that I suck.  It's one thing to sit back and wish that I could be a great writer and animator and overall a great artist but it's another to actually produce a work and put it out there and bomb.  It almost feels safer to wish for future admiration rather than go out and really try for it and fail.  Because what happens when I fail?  Where do I go from there?

I know I have low self-esteem and maybe I don't see how...talented (there's that icky word again) I am but in all honesty, I don't necessarily think it's my low self-esteem at work here.  I just genuinely don't think I'm great.  Maybe I'm not the worst writer in the world.  But, I'm not amazing and for me, if I'm not amazing, what's the point of even trying?  There's so much garbage in the world and just about as much mediocre work clogging up people's heads and I don't really want to add to the junk pile.  Then again, not everything has to be amazing to be influential.  Or maybe I'm just a bad judge of good art.  But art is subjective.  Can you see how complex this whole thing is for me?

I just come across random blogs sometimes and I see how so many people are so much better than me and I think to myself, "These people deserve to have a book out.  Not me."  But, I really enjoy writing.  And if I like it, why shouldn't I continue?  And if someone else likes it, why shouldn't I share it with others?  I guess it goes back to the fear of rejection.  But, people will criticize anyone.  Because art is subjective.  Not everyone is going to like the same piece.

I also hesitate to work on it too hard because I don't want to put so much of myself into the project only for it to utterly fail and cause me to never write another word again.  I know that seems extreme but so are my emotions.  It would just seem like a huge waste to dedicate so much of my time and then I won't sell but three copies.

I started printing out the novel so I could begin editing it but ran out of ink halfway through.  I thought I had an extra ink cartridge but it turns out it was color ink and not black.  It kind of irritated me because I had it all set up and everything but now I'll have to wait until I can get some more ink sometime next week.  I guess it doesn't even matter all that much since I'm going to now focus on fleshing out the characters instead of working on the actual content of the book.  Because I wrote the whole thing in a rush, I don't think I was able to make anyone three dimensional...or believable...or even likable.  That's kind of a big deal to have good, likable characters.

Then, I have to get into plot and dialogue and weave in the twist that I have at the end of the story.  Plus, my closing is kind of weak so I need to work on that.  I have a lot to do.  I'd love to post snippets of the story but because everything is so rough right now, I'd rather wait until it's a bit more polished.

It has come to my attention that I might not have even provided a basic synopsis for the story.  I really thought that I had but I guess I have not.  It's a pretty basic premise.  A guy named Chris and his girlfriend named Jenny are attending a Zombie walk when Chris is bitten by one of the attendees.  At first he and his girlfriend shrug it off as an overzealous zombie fan but then Chris starts getting sick.  As his health rapidly declines, he begins to think he was bitten by a real zombie.  And there you have it.  I didn't want to go too far over my head so I kept it simple with two main characters and their situation.  I figured since this was my first foray into novel-writing, I shouldn't include too many characters or interlocking stories because then I'd just be setting myself up for a big mess and most likely a big failure.

I just need some talent.  And motivation.  And Ritalin.

the man who killed me

You know how you always hear about the people who are haunted by those they've murdered?

It doesn't work that way.  It's actually the opposite.

When you wrap the rope around someone's neck, you aren't only tying off their air but tying yourself to them.  Think of a celebrity who has been killed and you'll know their killer.  Think of the store clerk shot by the robber.  Think of the children cut up by their classmate.  The slain become slaves, tethered to their torturers, yanked by the neck and forced to follow the ones in control of the rope.  Your killer will stay with you like a footprint in your soul.

When I died, a piece of him went straight to hell with me.  A voice trapped in my ear, a memory locked in my mind, a touch tucked under my skin, forever bubbling up and seeping through every pore and part of me.  Killing me over and over.  Breaking and mending and shattering and tending.  My eternal punishment.  An inescapable escalation of pain and humility, scarred along my body, navigating the wounds to find an impossible solution.  The bruising, the petechiae, the shattered glass of innocence lodged into my chest and arms.

He did so much harm and still does.  Time has tackled the worst of it but he still manages to come through clearly on certain days.  The rope is slacked, never severed, and I can still feel its pull.  He still manages to sting.  Yet he is untouchable.  I was rendered a ghost of bone but he is the indelible demon, intangible and translucent.  God-like, deaf and unwavering in decision and deed.  Stealing my life while robust in his own.  Ending me over and over, my sinew, soul and spirit crumbling forever under the weight of his hand, his tongue, his indifference.

Sometimes my hell is presented as a two-way mirror.  I sit and watch, locked down and languid, my eyes pried open as he grooms himself for hurting, corrupting the clean, bashing his brethren, seducing saints, all the while enjoying the spoils of the world.  He combs the teeth from his hair, washes the blood from his skin.  He fingers the strings of his guitar, floating up a melody of melancholy, a soundtrack to my suffering.  I see him wag his tongue and smile his small-toothed smile.  Through the glass, I can see what he's done to me, to others.  I can see him.

But he only sees himself.

book notes #2

I wrote 5,538 words yesterday.  It's about twice as much as I've ever written in a day.  I'm pretty proud of myself.  Of course, it did take all day.  I wrote a little bit, watched television, ate, surfed the web, wrote some more, and then repeated the process until falling asleep. 

Because I have been off this weekend, I suppose I haven't been so stressed out and that has allowed me to have a clear mind to write.  That's another reason I hate my job.  It's so mind numbing and all consuming that even when my shift is over, all that residual anger and frustration and fatigue comes home with me and all I want to do is go to sleep, but I don't go to sleep because the faster I go to sleep, the faster I'll be back at work.  I need a bigger buffer zone than that.  But since I'm too tired to write, I just sit around and do nothing productive.  I hate that I'm that way but I can't think of a better solution so I just kind of coast for now.

It seems that I can write until I hit some sort of wall with the story.  I'm kind of trying to let the story tell itself without putting too many restrictions on the direction, therefore the story is going its own way and that often leads to bumps in the road.  Depending on how much energy I have or if I'm thinking clearly, I can overcome those obstacles rather easily or I'll step away from the writing and not come back until a week or two later.  I think the combination of work and hitting one of those rough patches made me hesitant to get back into the swing of things.  In fact, that's why this whole process has taken so long.  I managed to write a little over 50,000 words just in the month of November last year and since then it's taken me 4 months to write a little over 28,000 words.  That's not very good.  I think if only I could have continued at that pace, I'd be done writing and well into editing by now.  I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up about it too much.  It is my first book and I am battling outside factors.  Just the fact that I'm working on this thing almost consistently is a good sign.  I think I'm pretty close to finishing the story and it's taken less than a year.  Way better than the memoir that I've been putting off for years now.

As I said, the story seems to be shaping itself and I like that.  I feel uncomfortable trying to change too much.  It's almost as if maybe my subconscious needs to tell the story a certain way so I'm kind of letting it take the reigns.  I feel like if I get too involved, it might muck it all up and it won't be as good as it would be had I just let it all happen.  Plus, so far I'm pleased with the way things have happened.  I'll be writing and suddenly I'll think, "Hey, this is the point where this needs to happen."  And then it does and it opens up wonderful new avenues for the characters to travel and it all feels very organic and natural and I like it like that..  It's actually kind of fun to see how the story unfolds as I write it instead of having this rigid outline that I have to strictly follow.

I was hoping to be super close to finishing by this weekend.  I was going to write every day this week and try to come close to the conclusion by tonight.  Well, I didn't even start until yesterday so I'm way behind but I think I wrote just about as much in that one day as I would have over the week so it's kind of worked out.  I just hope that today is as productive as yesterday was.

My only real problem now, and this is a minor one, is I have no idea what to name the book.  And that's really weird because I am usually really good at coming up with titles for the stuff I write.  In fact, I'll come up with a title in my head and then base what I write around the title.  I guess I'm a title first kind of guy.  I'm not saying I'm great at titles but I think I am.  I remember my nonfiction writing professor in college didn't like any of my essays' titles.  He said they were too cutesy.  I would agree with him but I like cutesy so it works for me. 

It is bothering me, though.  I'd like to think that maybe something will happen in the story that I can pluck a title from.  I love it when I read a book with a sort of obscure title that you're not sure how it relates to the book but then toward the middle or end of the book the title comes up in a character's dialogue with another or it comes from a memory or an observation and suddenly it all comes together and makes sense. I love that.  I hope I can recreate that. 

This is so lame.  The tentative title is Decay.  I will not be sticking with that if I can help it.  I feel like it's hard to name a zombie book without stepping on the toes of every other zombie book title out there.  Anything to do with rotting or deterioration has pretty much already been taken.  And let's not get started on how many ...of the Dead titles there are.  Plus, there's no zip to my title.  There's nothing to hook the reader into reading it or buying it.  Decay?  Where's the creativity?  It's kind of frustrating because I'm normally so good at coming up with titles but this one is really escaping me.

There's also a part of me that wants to discuss the book but at the same time that would spoil some of the surprises that pop up throughout the story.  I'd also like someone to read a rough draft just to give me pointers but I don't want to ruin anything for anyone.  In a perfect world, the story would be perfect and ready for everyone to read and enjoy without having to point out my (probably numerous) missteps.  But, I really do think I need some outside help.  This is my first book and my first foray into the world of large-scale fiction so I'm probably making a nice mess of things without even realizing it.  Sure, I've written short stories but there's a world of difference between short stories and novels.  I think I'll try to push the story as far as I can until I feel like it's decent enough to show and hopefully whoever reads it will still be entertained, even if they are proofing it for me. 

mile-an-hour mind

You know how driving long distances can make you exhausted?  You're not physically doing much, just working your hands and a leg, but you are so aware of your surroundings, concentrating on road signs and landmarks, that by the end of your trip you can feel mentally mowed down.  I know when I drove the eight hours to and from college, it took me nearly three days to recover.

Well, this is how my mind feels all the time, with or without a speedometer.

I'm always focusing on something, always wrangling my thoughts, fighting the urge to be pulled in one thousand different locations, unfolding my brain like a map to cover so much ground, making notes and scribbling directions so fast and furious that I write holes into the paper as I burn rubber with my regrets, constantly creasing until the paper crumbles.

My job isn't physically demanding but the stress is emotionally overwhelming.  My living conditions are not detrimental to my body but my spirituality is stressing my heart.  I never do anything yet I'm always tired.  I know my parents think I'm lazy, and maybe they are right because I will admit there's a slice of sloth in me, but mostly I'm just exhausted.  That's why I think I'm not artistic anymore.  It seems the older I get, the more disturbed I become.  And the more disturbed I become, the less creative I am.  I'm too preoccupied to push myself as an artist and a writer, preoccupied with everything ranging from garbage that doesn't matter to larger than life issues I cannot control, things that should not take so much of me away from myself, things that I should have let go a long time ago but can't for whatever reason.

My mind is racing at one hundred miles an hour but my life feels stuck in first gear.  And I have to wonder, when will my mind stop wandering?  When will I find a rest stop for my cerebrum?  I need a place where I can relax and release the tension, a space where I can be still and take in the scenery.  When will it end?  Where will it end?  Will I reach my destination?  Will my head eventually just run out of gas as I run myself into the ground or will I crash and burn and finally shift into shambles?

(sk)intact

Those Proactiv commercials really piss me off. 

I've had problems with my skin ever since I was around twelve.  I know this isn't anything new or shocking as most people go through a pockmarked pubescence to some degree or another, but the bad skin wasn't just a side effect of physical maturation.  It lingered.  It was trapped in my clogged pores, presenting itself in clusters of pimples, blackheads and under the skin bumps.

Because of my pimplesplosions, I had to take a crash course in skincare.  I have tried almost every single product you can find at the drugstore and none of them have provided very good results.  Some even made my skin worse (thank you Neutrogena Acne Wash).  On top of the pimples, my skin was dry, irritated and flaky around my mouth while my forehead remained an oil slick.  I naively went in trusting that these products would clear up my skin as they claimed they would.  When it got worse, I realized something was amiss.  So, I tried to go the more natural route.  I tried those home remedies as well, including salt scrubs and egg white facials.  I've put more lemon on my face than you can shake a tart 'n tangy stick at.  While tasty, the results were less than satisfying.  I went online and researched acne and how you should take care of oily skin.  Some said alcohol would dry it up.  Some said alcohol would make it worse.  Some say you should moisturize oily skin.  Some say you should not.  I even researched ingredients and realized a lot of ingredients in drugstore products are cheap and they suck.

And yes, I've even tried Proactiv.  Thrice.  I honestly can't remember the first time I used it.  I just know I returned it.  I don't think it made my acne worse but I don't think it really helped, either.  It was just kind of...there.  I also tried Murad and that stuff didn't work, either.  Even if it did, I remember one of the products in the line smelling horrid and I thought I wouldn't be able to use it even if it did clear up my skin.  I finally had to resort to Accutane to get my acne under control.  Those were the best months of my life, skin-wise.  Not only did my acne completely clear up, it got rid of my blackheads and banished all facial shine.  My skin was finally perfect.

Then, the Accutane messed up my liver and I had to stop taking it before I finished up my round of treatment.  Screw my liver, my skin was glowing.  But, I suppose doctors have to care about that kind of stuff so they took me off it.  Several months later, my skin still looked good.  But, the oil eventually returned and then the blackheads and then the pimples.  I always wonder if I would have finished my treatment if I could have permanently rid myself of the blemishes.  There are days I would kill to get a hold of those controversially effective pills, liver be darned.

Of course, the acne wasn't as severe as it was pre-Accutane.  Just a pimple here or there or even a small cluster of zits.  Nothing too terribly serious but it was enough to bother me.  At one time, my skin had been so horrible and then it cleared up so beautifully and I just hated to see it go back to it's former grossness.  Because of that, I developed a slight obsession with getting my complexion creamy again.  Those brainwashing Proactiv commercials were really playing on my insecurities and I caved and ordered it a second time.  I thought, "Hey, maybe it didn't help because my skin was so severe but now that it's mostly under control, this stuff will take care of the occasional bump."

It didn't.  I returned it again.  So, I started anew and went back to the drugstore.  And back to researching.

It's all hugely annoying, really.  You try to do find products with good ingredients only to run into claims from one company that says a certain ingredient is amazing for the skin while another says it is horrible, such as mineral oil, petroleum, menthol and parabens.  Of course, one company could just be saying someone else's products are horrible just so you'll buy their stuff.  For the longest time, I tried to avoid products that contained ingredients that were thought to be harmful in some way.  Let me tell you, almost every product contained one or more of those harmful ingredients.  That left my selection extremely limited.  Eventually, I got over most of those claims after I decided that certain ingredients probably weren't as bad as once claimed.  I guess you just have to really do your research and find out what you feel comfortable putting on your face.

So, when the drugstore stuff wasn't cutting it, I ventured into high-end skincare, spending exorbitant amounts of money on what ended up being the same crappy ingredients in prettier packaging.  I spent way too much time and money figuring out that high-end products either are just as bland as the stuff you can pick up at the supermarket or my skin really does suck and nothing, no matter how expensive or well formulated, will work for me.  I had to wonder, where did that leave me?  Here I am spending a student loan payment on grooming products when I could splash my face with some soap and water and come out with the same results.  It was stressful, which is funny because stress is correlated to breakouts.  I'm worrying about how to fix my skin and the worrying is just making matters worse.

It seemed no matter what I used, added, omitted or changed, nothing ever made too much of a difference.  Over the years, it seemed like my skin started to clear on its own.  Those small clusters of pimples turned into one or two.  But those one or two were still extremely annoying.  By no means do I have terrible skin, at least not in the eyes of others.  The annoying part is when one zit clears up, another takes it's place somewhere else on my face.  So, while I'm not a pizza face, I am usually sporting some kind of pimple or another at all times.  I'm sure a lot of people can deal with that.  I can't.  So, I continue to search for that one magical ingredient/product/combination of products that will give me that healthy glow I used to possess post-liver damaging medication.

And because of my rabid search for clear skin, I once again caved and bought Proactiv...for a third time.  It's crazy because I know the stuff isn't the miracle it's made itself out to be.  I used it twice with bland results and yet, those commercials are so captivating and positive and it really does make you believe that stuff will make your skin supermodel clear.  It's sad how they take advantage of people's low self-esteem and desperation.  I suppose every time I succumb to those annoyingly persistent commercials, I think to myself, "Well, it sounds good on paper.  Decent ingredients and it's actually cheaper than what I'm using now, so let's give it another shot."  And I did.  And I still don't like it.  I don't hate it.  Let me say that it's not terrible.  But, the first time I used it my skin felt like it was on fire.  That is pretty bad considering I'm all about putting acid on my face (salicylic and glycolic being my favorites), so my skin should be pretty resistant to powerful ingredients.  Not this stuff.  First of all, the scrub in the cleanser is way too rough.  It's supposed to be beads but it feels more like tree bark and chipped up razors.  I can't imagine anyone with bad acne getting any benefit from such a harsh scrub.  If anything, it would probably aggravate any blemishes on the skin.  The toner and lotion aren't that bad, though.  It is drying, however.  Like, really drying.  You have to slowly work your way into that three-step routine.

After two weeks, I realized I wasn't feeling the stuff.  If I can be honest, I really just wanted to try it again just to remember how it smelled and felt on my skin.  I suppose I was having product nostalgia.  One of the big things I have about products is how they smell and how they feel on my skin.  Another reason I don't care for drugstore products is because they smell so strongly.  They might not always smell bad but when you use a facial cleanser that you have on your face for approximately thirty seconds and then you end up smelling it on yourself at the end of the day, that's a problem.  That's why I prefer fragrance-free products, which are extremely rare at the drugstore.

Through years of trial and error, I found a group of products that I feel mostly good about.  They range from high-end to super cheap.  I've tried to put away the notion that expensive means better or that I have to use one single brand of products.  I found out the hard way that no one line of products are perfect.  No matter brand you use, there's usually a clunker or two to be found.  I've realized that I will probably always have problem skin and the best thing I can do is just take care of it using products that I really believe in, stuff that I feel won't exacerbate acne and might actually reverse past pimple damage.

But, I'm now facing a new problem: wrinkles.  Despite my age and the fact that I have oily skin (they say oilier folks wrinkle slower and less than dry people) and the fact that I'm never out in the sun, I'm starting to notice crow's feet and laugh lines.  Just my luck.  Once I control one skin problem, another pops up.  I suppose I'm destined to look haggard.  But, that doesn't mean I won't fight it tooth skin and nails.

I'm going to start saving up for Botox now.