I’m feeling pretty damn introspective today but in kind of a scatterbrained way. I had a cheat day yesterday… I blame all the carbs. So. many. carbs.
* As an author, I like to think of myself as a vessel that absorbs experiences and people. It comes naturally. I’m always the one at a party sitting to the side, just watching, studying body language and the way people interact. People are endlessly fascinating. I love their stories… how we can all be so different yet so alike. Complete strangers love to tell me their life stories, in part (I think) because they can sense how receptive I am to them. To be able to travel the world, meet all sorts of people and experience different cultures… then distill parts of it down for others to enjoy. That’s fucking magic, people. Right there. Better than any drug… and the more I write, the more I need it.
* I crave depth and layers. I HATE tropes, those overused plots and characters you see over and over. People aren’t just one thing. Events are rarely the result of one decision or desire. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve picked up and stopped 10% of the way through because it’s just so fucking predictable. Maybe they redeem themselves later, but no. Just no. Sometimes I can’t push my way through it.
* There are places I want to go with my writing… darker, more twisted places. I’m afraid to go there because I don’t know if people will come with me. You know when you first start working at a new job, you put on your “normal” mask. You don’t swear. You censor yourself. If you hear an unintentional sexual innuendo, you don’t snicker like normal. There is a need for professionalism, sure, but it’s more than that.
You’re afraid to fly your freak flag because you aren’t sure if there are others like you. Once you cross that line and let your colors show, it’s impossible to come back. And maybe that’s okay. If they don’t like the real you, it’s their loss. Maybe I’m thinking about letting my flag fly a little higher… see if it scares anyone away.
* Last week, I set a challenge for myself. Could I write an entire book (50,000 words) in 5 days? I came within 3,000 words of my goal and if it weren’t for a poorly timed migraine, I’m sure I could’ve done it. You know why though?
I’m afraid I’m going to run out of time.
You have no idea how many ideas I have cooking around in my head, plots I have written down, glimmers of ideas I haven’t quite fleshed out. I can only do so much in a day. Yet nearly every day a new, fantastic idea smacks me across the face and demands to be realized.
GRRRrrrrr… see? This is what happens when I eat pizza and cheesecake! But I did really enjoy the pizza and cheesecake… and the rosemary fries… and the salted caramel mocha…
I do cheat days right.
Feel free to comment and tell me to snap the fuck out of it