Post for the New Year

7 Jan

Reading: Ada by Nabokov

Finished: Pnin by Nabokov. Resident Evil Revelations for Switch (awesome game)

Currently watching: Twin Peaks: a limited series event

How was your break from writing?

Painful. After completing eleven novels, it’s like I want to go even further, explore new places. I have been through some hardships, but I’m willing to look forward.

You’re referring to the scam on Christmas day?

Yes. It felt really good. Someone nominated me for a literary award, which in turn, turned out to be fake, which only allowed you to nominate your work for a fee. But it was a trick. Rotten. Horrible. Dickheads. But with that being said, it was nice to feel some accomplishment. I thought like someone cared, but what turned out to be good news, came as a sign of distress. I was really down and wanted to write, but I wanted to just go without writing for four days, and I thought it was the worst week of my life. I hated my co-workers even harder, but still held true, and found what little dignity I had, and just finished out the rest of the year. Being scammed can give you some hope, but also allow disappointment to keep you grounded. Facing rejections, it was nice to have some fake hope after a while. My face felt like it could melt off with some bit of hope. But I know that life is made up of disappointments even when there are millions of opportunities to take away from it. The NY Literary Magazine. It hurts to think that they were giving me some hope, but it wasn’t their fault. It’s just a disappointment to round out the year. It really does suck to feel like you have someone who does care about your work and think you should be nominated, but if it was a scam, then it wasn’t real. It must be a fake, and everything that happens after that is just another limb being torn off, and phantom limb syndrome for a craft that has weathered disappointments and my own depression bogs me down to not send anything out, continues to follow me. But it’s all right. There might be something else out there that has to awaken the spirits, but I have not stopped writing since the new year and have found every chance to express the new feelings with the new year. I always take my feelings and put them on the page. That’s the only way I can exist without feeling like I wasted my day paying the bills. I don’t like to starve, but hobbies, if strong enough, should feel like they are just as important. The craft one is willing to undergo, when someone feels like scraped roadkill on an August day in West Virginia, there is a choice to understand that disappointment or let it fester. Putting it out there is easier.

That’s when self-destruction happens?

Yes. It came in many visual forms. A tornado. Which was one of my visual images I see whenever I close my eyes. I recently abandoned it when I felt it was too much and put it in a story. It helped, and it keeps me going, but seeing that tornado is like passing your arm through a meat grinder and feeling crushed within the weight of the choices one has to undergo when they have to convey their feelings in some visual communications. There is a fundamental dream one has to undergo when they feel they are lost in their thoughts, but even when they understand the principle depression of one’s own silliness, silliness is often the remedy to a lot of problems. Words are for novels, silliness keeps the tornado in check.

Do you see it happening again?

No. But I think the tornado is one of my images that a soul has to have in order to keep their vision together. It’s about having double vision, seeing through the lens of what is real and what is fake. It’s never the same when one has to change their life just so they can do the normal things, but when normal things are too boring, the act of making food a chore, a life of singularity that doesn’t help when you have to abandon the world for writing. It’s about letting yourself understand your own principles. Writing is about principles that you never follow, ultimately. I have it easier than most other artists.

Do you feel disdain or pity for the writing community?

I think the writing community is afraid the tornado might just come visit them. I have never really known other writers, and when they see my writing, their face takes a toll. They know that to lose a personality is to gain a perspective in the craft. It’s about whether the living life is still worth admiring. Science Fiction can help with that and many themes like that. But what happens is still the notion that even they have some decisions to make. Art has to overwhelm and seize the joints, and know there is no other moment they would rather take being artistic than living a normal life. People who are accountants and boring have to be boring. That’s all they know. They may make money, and have no friends, and maybe a wife, but all of that sounds like a dream that can only dissolve. They will know their fears when they understand their reckoning of self-deception. Material things fade, and grow cumbersome. Art is what is eternal, never the material possessions one has to attain from working at a job. So if this question is for humanity or the writing community, they know who God is when he speaks. He’s the one who sees them when they aren’t writing or making pictures they can be impressed with. Don’t worry, he sees and knows your pain. He doesn’t hate, but pity isn’t even enough. Hatred is obligatory in writing, but without it, there are no reasons left to write.

Is there a choice to leave?

True artists trust their judgment and they don’t let go. They don’t bend or cry for when they are oppressed at their day jobs, asked to do things they don’t want to do. God suffers with them, and he knows their pain. But this isn’t really a metaphysical thing either. Is it the ego talking or another reminder that even those who walk the artist’s life are connected to the id, ego, anima, the will to entrust, enslave their own fiendish haunts to the will of some grateful bird who holds their trust and carries them without letting go of the will beyond doubt. It’s about walking through walls and flying through space. It’s never about leaving, but how much you can benefit from staying. A life in letters is one that can forgo the rituals of a life that has to do with other people. Actors need people, but writers create the people they live in. Writers haunt everyone, even if they have never written a book, that tension is always there. Don’t leave without giving up your entire life for a second chance.

Are there moments between?

I guess I’m just a little biased, but there are no in-between moments. It’s always there.

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