Stay Golden, Pony-Boy

 

Well, Hello Again!

What happened, where I went, and what I'm doing now:

I know, I know, I know. It's literally been years since I posted a single, solitary item, vanished, and now I'm back again wanting to carry on like normal.

I know. You don't have to look at me like that. I promise, it'll all make sense.

Anyway. Here's the thing - I'm not the greatest at commitment. There, I said it. It's now out in the open, and I must live with the fact that should anyone ever (like, ever) come across this little blog of mine, they'll know this awful truth about me. Gasp. But I feel as though I owe it to myself to be entirely truthful in at least one aspect of my life. And yes, it just so happens to be the virtual part that no one will ever know about. Mwua-ha-ha. 

For the record, a lot has happened in that massive ten-year leap in time between my activity here to help explain why I vanished. Maybe not a lot that should have happened, but nevertheless a lot more than I'd anticipated. Surprisingly a pandemic that shut down the country was actually one of the things I'd had in mind, but like, as a joke. Like Dwight Schrute level of joking, 'ya know? "There's too many people on this earth, we need a new plague." THAT kind of joke. Fucking shocked, if I may say, to have that happen instead of go to college, move out, get married, have kids. But I digress, things happened.

The basic gist is this: I got heavily invested in co-writing projects with people (cough, roleplaying) that fell through (more like they crashed and burned to a crisp) which did not do any favors for my mental health. I developed a sort of hermitized way of life where I practically lived in my room on my computer, which led to a fairly bad dependency that affected my social life and only increased my hermit lifestyle. Eventually, I spiraled into a weird depression, and rarely left my house. Lob on top of that, I scrapped every single one of my own personal projects in favor of writing, of all things - big gulp, everyone - fanfiction. 

...I know.

Ten years is a long, long, long time spent writing things that I was increasingly unhappy with, having uninteresting conversations with shifty people about projects that made me miserable in the long run, and ultimately, I wasted a fuckton of time doing something that drew me further and further into my own head instead of into a place that I wanted to be. So, there's that.

Almost five years ago, though, I took a step in the right direction. I got a big girl job. Three years ago, I quit going online at all. I let my computer practically turn into a dust bunny and die. I severed contact with the people that were making me unhappy. I moved up and then around in my job. And then, about two years ago, I got my first real car (that bad baby is almost paid off, too, score). And then, almost a year ago, I found something that'd been eluding me for a really long time that spurred me into purchasing a brand-new computer: Inspiration. 

Don't you fucking roll your eyes.

No, seriously! I got inspired to create things that were all mine! True, they were shit ideas, or recycled variations of projects from years ago, but they were mine. I wasn't writing bullshit fanfiction or weird co-op pieces that made me want to rip my hair out due to the constraints and general rhetoric fatigue. And considering how much time I've spent being unhappy, it doesn't really seem all that bad to be enjoying writing things that aren't the absolute best. For me, it feels like I'm doing something. It feels like I'm not wasting my time. And it feels good to be committing to something for a change, even if it's for me.

Yes! Commitment!

So, now you know as much as you need to know. 

Was it all bad? Absolutely not. There were some days that were pretty great. And in retrospect now that I'm super-mega-ultra better, I really don't think I'd change a thing. I'm happy to have had that experience, so I can be even more grateful for how much I've changed as a person and improved my 

situation and my outlook on life. I'm better at filtering what influences me, and I've learned to not take life so seriously. It's so much shorter than we realize, but it's never too late to start committing to enjoying it.

See what I did there? Commitment.

Prententious Intros Are For Pixies

I write because it is all I can do. I think of nothing else, because there really is nothing else that delights me, and nothing else that can occupy my time for so many hours in a single day. Every story I write Every word that passes from my hand to the page consumes me like an engraving into my brain that needs to be repeated over and over again until it is rubbed out. I relish the pain that comes with writing because it speaks of true intellect at hard play. To me, pain is a constant lover to the action of writing, and I am like the wicked little girl who hides under the bed as they work together, pressing her body to the bowing underside of the mattress in an attempt to partake of the deed.

I write because I am the child of thought and understanding, the curious offspring of insanity and reason.

I write because writing is a part of me.

To me, writing is a quest, to find myself and to find that which defines every facet of who I am. This quest of mine has taken the better part of eleven years, first gripping hold of me when I was six and the thrill of writing was revealed to me by my muse, the muse which – if you don’t mind my paying heed – has since then not failed me a single time. I only hope that the work that my muse passes into me will live up to par with other people’s expectations of a girl well into her eighteenth year who’s now made her writing a full time profession, and if not...well then there are always the bathroom stalls that serve as a source of people’s entertainment while they’re in there…

I write in many genres and in many different styles, which possibly explains why first impressions of me tend to lean toward the quirky cant-sit-still douche-bag type personality. (Or mundane, depending on which side of the playground you like to stand on.) And I’m told this thought process of mine clashes headlong with my appearance, as I love bright colors and tend to wear more eye-makeup than is possibly healthy for a person, though I am a known Queen of the Bedhead Hairdo, and pajama bottoms are my royal clothing of choice. What can I say, I love contradictions.

I’ve written a few short stories, some poems, and even lyrics for bands, the latter of these which is never a good idea when you’re not a member of the band – which is why I will not read/critic/write song lyrics ever for my fellow literates.

I love to read other people’s work because it gives me a sense of accomplishment, knowing I’m reading something that someone else has worked hard to create, and offering my opinions is equally as satisfying, though in a way more intimate. I don’t like to bore people with lists of things like books/movies/music without their first having asked, simply because it’s the polite way to go about things; after all, why should I tell you if I don’t know whether or not you’re interested?

Recently graduating from High School – I’m *hopefully* soon to attend my first semester at college studying for a MLitt as well as an MFA in creative writing – I’ve been spending the majority of my summer reading and working on a couple of novellas while garnering enough money to pay for school.

I sometimes don’t know where I’m going when I start writing something that hasn’t been planned beforehand. (Jumping the gun, some people might say, but we all know it's just impromptu practice for genius.)

Also, I’m known to finish everything with a sort of cliff-hanger when I can’t think of anything clever to leave off with.

So that’s my introduction. I hope you’ve enjoyed spending time with me. Let’s do it again sometime soon.