Sunday, August 15, 2010

I'll Just Write Nothing 1

I haven't written in a week, which is a shame, but I take heart in two things: the first is that everyday I realized I wasn't writing, but for whatever reason decided not to, such as the three days I spent stripping floors and felt too tired (not necessarily excusable, but understandable, right? Right!?). The second is that I (eventually) got back on it. The problem is that I have no idea what to write, as I wrote in my free write. My imagination feels a little crippled, which is understandable when I haven't exercised it in a week, I don't really have any solid ideas to work with. Well, that's not true. I do have one idea for a super-indy-wins-all-the-awards type movie, and I will write that mother, but it hasn't percolated enough. I haven't spent enough time in raw thought over the movie yet to understand what it is I'll be writing.

I do (did) know that I want to write a blog post. Sometimes when I can't write or think it's because there's crap clogging up my brain and that crap can make a good blog. But that isn't always the case. I'm not sure where we'll be ending up with this. It might end up being a journal that goes nowhere and gets seen by no one.

The first idea I had to write about is the nature of the stories I write. I've noticed that ever since I was in high school I've tended to write stories about people that are heroic, but sort of fall into that role. They just get stuck in bizarre situations, and a lot of times there isn't much reaction, mostly a vehicle that allows me to write about a place or time. For example, in a college writing class I wrote about a guy that falls asleep and goes to heaven (a place on the bottom of the ocean) and discovers that heaven is really lame; filled with effeminate androgynous weirdos. So he tries to escape and finds the door to hell, and hell sucks just as much, but in different ways. Instead, hell is lonely, filled with sunken ships, is uncomfortably hot (not flaming, but hot enough that you definitely never feel at ease, can't breathe, can't sleep. Essentially Texas in August). Finally he finds a shaman type character that delivers him from hell. I really like the story, but the character doesn't really have any reactions to what's happening. I actually really really like the story. I think it's an instance in my life of unrestrained creativity. Nevertheless, the character's a total blank slate.

Another story I wrote for another short story class, this one based on a dream, had a character kidnapped and frozen by a less-than-on-the-level girlfriend. He wakes up in the future and dies of some kind of cell death brought about by the freezing. Essentially he melts. Again, the character is a leaf in the wind just going where the current of the story takes him.

Even the newest story I've written (temporarily called Meaningful, which I'll be posting here soon) features a character that is a leaf made fate's bitch. I'm also incredibly proud of this story. It feels to me as pure an expression of imagination as the hell and heaven story, but combined with the intellect of some of my better college papers. Nevertheless, it has a character that just falls into a situation. At least this time, however, he reacts: sometimes actively, but mostly internally. I don't really know if I have a hero (if heroes they be. I'm doubtful) that follows a typical hero arch. I'm actually trying to write a story right now that has a more typical hero's arch and I'm having balls of a time doing it. It's one of my unsuccessful irons in the fire at the moment. Strength in numbers.

Even the little scrawls from even younger follow the same motif: guy (hasn't ever been a girl that I can recall) finds himself in a new situation, goes with flow. I wonder what this says about my worldview.

This Post: 20 Total: 150/600,000 Minutes

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