Saturday, March 16, 2013

The Part Where I Talk About Writing Again

Forgive me if I am repeating myself.  Digging through 150 posts that I have unpublished from this blog has left me wondering what I was thinking with some of them.... what I was thinking when I wrote them, or what I was thinking when I took them down.

And then I remember.  Most of the time, I have no idea what I am thinking.  Ever.  At all.  Like right now.  Wait.  No.  Right now, "Private Dancer" by Tina Turner.  That's what I am thinking.  I really have no idea why.  It's just in my head.  That's woman's legs are longer than my whole body.  

That's what I am thinking.  
Like I said.  Repeat myself, blah, blah, blah.  I do that a lot.  
I have two blogs.  I really have no idea why.  I mean, I know why I used to.  But not anymore.  

Between both of them, most folks have no idea that I am a fiction writer.  99% of the stuff I write on blogs is just me.  Just me rambling about something.  Something personal.  I have a lot of poetry here, but again, that's just me.  Rambling a bit more grandiloquently, but rambling nonethless.  It's certainly nothing I take seriously. 

Matter of fact.  There is nothing in either blog I take seriously.  It's strange.  I have posted little quips and scraps of fiction here and there, and then quickly took it down.  I know I have said that before, but I don't know if I have really explained why. 

There are many reasons for this.  The main one being that I am just weird.  I am seriously considering the notion of writing under a pen name.  

I read a blog once where someone said that if they didn't stick their fiction work on their blog, it would never see the light of day.  I didn't, and still don't, understand what this means.  Why not?  

I am exactly the opposite.  If I write anything I expect to see the light of day, I would NEVER put it on my blog.  Which is one of the biggest reasons I don't publish my fiction here.  Or anywhere.  If someone else wants to publish it, great.  But not me.  My brain sort of thinks it would be tainted in some weird way.  As long as it stays unseen, then it's pure.  Once I throw it up on a blog for the whole world to see, it's soiled and spoiled.

I told you I was weird.  

Even some of the flash fiction prose I have written in response to prompts I have taken down.  If I see any potential in it, if a story begins to take shape, I'll take it down.  

Some of my other take-downs have been emotionally charged pieces I no longer wanted public.  I haven't deleted them, just took them down.  I was a different person when I wrote them, one I don't recognize anymore when I read them, so why would I want to claim them?  

Yes.  Yep.  I sure have thought about starting yet another blog where I can remain anonymous.  Perhaps I could toss some fiction up and get some honest feedback without the commitment and humiliation of attaching my real name to it. 

But no.  I will not.  

My best friend has read most of my recent fiction.  Sometimes, I will get lost in the writing and it may take me a while to find a path through the undergrowth, so I won't pass her anything for a while.  But she and my son are probably the only people on the whole of the Earth who would be allowed to read it all- anything and whatever.  I'd probably give both or either of them full access to any folder on my whole computer to read as they wished.  

There are a couple of other people whose opinion I crave.  People who know me well enough to know my potential and care enough about me to point out the times when I don't meet it.  People whose own talent far surpasses mine and whose passion for the craft I admire.  I shall pass them a few things here and there.  For these people, it will only be what I judge as "my best," though, because it is before these people I would be humiliated if I wrote something stupidly sub-par.  

So, there.  I just wanted to put that out there.  I am a fiction writer.  More to the point, I am a sci-fi and horror fiction writer.  I have been since I was 10 years old.   I have thousands upon thousands of words I have written.  Hundreds upon hundreds of characters I have invented, befriended, confided in, and killed off.  It has only been the past year or so that I have had enough confidence to actually submit anything.  Some of it has been published in little places.  I have actually even turned down a few markets in retrospect if I decide it isn't something I want to be associated with.  And like any writer, I have quite a respectable little pile of rejections which I am curiously quite proud of.   

They remind me that I am real.  That life is real.  My pile of acceptances prove I know the standard and am good enough to meet it.  My pile of rejections prove that not everyone is going to kiss my ass. 

But now you know.  

As one of my characters said not too long ago, "My neuroses invaded every facet of my life, but my social isolation served to keep them hidden behind a curtain of shame."

Little does she know, she's fixina get raped.



  1. I think said that, errr, typed that, didn't I?

    My wife and teenager told me if I never showed my stuff, then no one would see it. That was 3 years ago. Now, I have a dumb book, out.

    You write, dude. Regardless of what it is, you write. I love reading it. I want a book with you name on it so I can stalk you to Carolina and get it signed.

    keep writing

    1. No, it wasn't you. It was a conversation on Studio 30+ about blogging versus writing, I think. I could swear it was a chick who said it. Hell, it's probably still over there somewhere LOL.

      I'm close. Not to having anything published, but at least to querying agents. I might not survive that ;-)

  2. Great, now all I want in life is to read your sci-fi/horror fictionings. Oh look - something else! (wanders off)

    Seriously, though - just keep writing. Recently, I randomly recalled the wretched sales mantra I hear many years ago: ABC - Always Be Closing. Since then, I've been mentally repeating "Always Be Writing." Naturally, this has ruined me as a conversationalist, and I've written very, very little.

    Wait. What?

    1. Exactly.

      I perpetually have some Word file open at the bottom of my computer screen. Some days, I will write. A. Sentence. That's it. A sentence. Other days, a whole short story. Still other days, I will read 50 articles and 50 different ideas on how to write the perfect agent query. And if I am not doing any one of those things, I am cataloging all the different adjectives one can use to describe self-enucleation.