Le Gasp. Another post. My brain must be functioning again. Weird.
I wanna go fast:
I just went go-karting with the family. I don't know if it's just me, well no. Actually, I know it's not just me. But I really, really enjoy going fast. I know it's not just be because there are entire industries built up around this ideal. But that's not really the point. Not yet at least.
There's just some trivial basal level of joy I get when ever I go fast. Sprinting. Cars. Go-Karts. Motorcycles. Mini-Bikes. Boats. Whatever. There's just something about the world zipping by faster than I'm used to that I enjoy. The wind whipping through my hair, and all those other crappy cliches. I love it all. I don't know why. But something about those little carts today. Something about moving in and out of the cars. Going from the inside lanes to the outside for a pass, and back in for yet another. Something about those little bits of rubber flying up and beating the shit out of my face and eyes. (yeah, I even enjoyed it when I couldn't hardly see). It's all just exhilarating.
It's kind of funny that I like going fast so much. Everything else I do is at my own (normally slow, lazy and lethargic like) pace. I don't drive fast. I don't particularly walk fast. I don't like running (because the term "running" usually entails a jog which I find quite boring). None of my usual hobbies entail any quick movements, and even if they do, I tend to rely on an alternative approach.
I can see why people like racing so much now. Even though I can't bear to watch it myself, participating would be a blast. Well, except for the fact that I'd probably end up crashing and blowing up. But the not crashing or blowing up parts would be great.
I should probably just stick to going fast on things that realistically, aren't really going all that fast. Like go-karts and mini-bikes. Less chance of me blowing up, still maximum feeling of "Awesome I'm going fast!".
I'm going to stop now. Because really, there's only so many ways for me to say "I like going fast" before I run out of things to say.
17.7.10
14.7.10
Drug of choice
Inspiration just hit. Might as well record it.
Past and Present:
Alright. So, on my facebook a "friend finder" box popped up. I wasn't going to click it, but it started irking me, so in order to remove it, I clicked. What appeared was a list of people that I don't particularly associate with, or even remember any more. Except for one name. A name that is attached to a kid that used to be an extremely important part of my life.
I know I've ranted about this topic before, but it's one that I can't help but revisit every once in awhile. This kid used to be my best friend. We were near inseparable for years. But we grew apart. That's how the story always goes, isn't it? Well, at least, that's the story I'm used to. There are those other kids who have known the same people their entire lives. But fuck them, I'm telling the story. And this story is about people who don't have people like that.
I just facebook creeped a little. His profile is mostly closed off, but I could see the pictures. It's interesting. I've lived across the street from this kid for a while now. I learned more about his current life from those scant few pictures than I've known in a long time. It's so... interesting to see how people have changed. I don't even think about him that often anymore. Just a passing thought when his annoying ass car pulls into his driveway at all hours of the day (apparently he's really into cars now (doesn't make his fucking car any less annoying)). But now I'm wondering. What would have happened if I'd stayed in touch with him? Would we still be friends? Would we just be acquaintances? I mean, hypothetically I would just walk across the street and start up a conversation one day.
But I won't. Probably never will. I'll probably just sit around and wonder every now and then. I might even think back on better times when we ran around and played together. But it's just so strange. Thinking back on all the people who used to be so important to me, who are now little more than a passing face. But in a way it's nice. I can think back on the good times I used to have with this kid, and there's little animosity. He's one of the few that I parted with on good terms. There's so many others that if I passed them on an entirely empty street, I'd still pray they didn't see me. But after 10 minutes or so of looking through snippets of his life I'm left mostly curious about how it's been going. And with a lingering negativity left by others who are also no longer parts of my current life.
There are so many other "best friends" from once upon a time that for one reason or another, my body just has an unavoidable urge to run away from. Funny how that works. Ex-best friends seem to always be the ones you want to see the most... and the least.
And every time their names or faces pop up in my news feed there's a tiny whirlwind of emotions. Part of me is curious and wants to see how they've been doing. Another part remembers the good times. Then there's the part that remembers what went wrong. And then there's the tiny part of me that always wants to reach out and start anew. Pretend the past never happened, pretend that just talking to them would make everything ok. Pretend that neither side had done any wrong, that everything was the same as before. I always end up drowning out that tiny part. It's locked in some tiny closet in my mind gagged and bound.
Occasionally, like now, I wonder what could have been and what could be. Generally it's prompted by something, like the facebook updates, or even a dream. But like always, I'll drown out the thoughts with my drug of choice- the stories, and the friends who are still around. Tales of Vesperia has quite a few interesting characters. And there's almost always at least one person around who can distract me from my thoughts.
But tonight, I can only hope that I don't hear his car pulling into the driveway. Memory lane was never my favorite place.
Quote of the Day:
"I have lost friends, some by death, others through sheer inability to cross the street."
- Virginia Woolf.
Past and Present:
Alright. So, on my facebook a "friend finder" box popped up. I wasn't going to click it, but it started irking me, so in order to remove it, I clicked. What appeared was a list of people that I don't particularly associate with, or even remember any more. Except for one name. A name that is attached to a kid that used to be an extremely important part of my life.
I know I've ranted about this topic before, but it's one that I can't help but revisit every once in awhile. This kid used to be my best friend. We were near inseparable for years. But we grew apart. That's how the story always goes, isn't it? Well, at least, that's the story I'm used to. There are those other kids who have known the same people their entire lives. But fuck them, I'm telling the story. And this story is about people who don't have people like that.
I just facebook creeped a little. His profile is mostly closed off, but I could see the pictures. It's interesting. I've lived across the street from this kid for a while now. I learned more about his current life from those scant few pictures than I've known in a long time. It's so... interesting to see how people have changed. I don't even think about him that often anymore. Just a passing thought when his annoying ass car pulls into his driveway at all hours of the day (apparently he's really into cars now (doesn't make his fucking car any less annoying)). But now I'm wondering. What would have happened if I'd stayed in touch with him? Would we still be friends? Would we just be acquaintances? I mean, hypothetically I would just walk across the street and start up a conversation one day.
But I won't. Probably never will. I'll probably just sit around and wonder every now and then. I might even think back on better times when we ran around and played together. But it's just so strange. Thinking back on all the people who used to be so important to me, who are now little more than a passing face. But in a way it's nice. I can think back on the good times I used to have with this kid, and there's little animosity. He's one of the few that I parted with on good terms. There's so many others that if I passed them on an entirely empty street, I'd still pray they didn't see me. But after 10 minutes or so of looking through snippets of his life I'm left mostly curious about how it's been going. And with a lingering negativity left by others who are also no longer parts of my current life.
There are so many other "best friends" from once upon a time that for one reason or another, my body just has an unavoidable urge to run away from. Funny how that works. Ex-best friends seem to always be the ones you want to see the most... and the least.
And every time their names or faces pop up in my news feed there's a tiny whirlwind of emotions. Part of me is curious and wants to see how they've been doing. Another part remembers the good times. Then there's the part that remembers what went wrong. And then there's the tiny part of me that always wants to reach out and start anew. Pretend the past never happened, pretend that just talking to them would make everything ok. Pretend that neither side had done any wrong, that everything was the same as before. I always end up drowning out that tiny part. It's locked in some tiny closet in my mind gagged and bound.
Occasionally, like now, I wonder what could have been and what could be. Generally it's prompted by something, like the facebook updates, or even a dream. But like always, I'll drown out the thoughts with my drug of choice- the stories, and the friends who are still around. Tales of Vesperia has quite a few interesting characters. And there's almost always at least one person around who can distract me from my thoughts.
But tonight, I can only hope that I don't hear his car pulling into the driveway. Memory lane was never my favorite place.
Quote of the Day:
"I have lost friends, some by death, others through sheer inability to cross the street."
- Virginia Woolf.
11.7.10
Learning
It's been awhile. I can't say that I've been doing all that much. I mean, I have, but nothing that would prevent me from blogging if I wished to do so. Anyway, here's a post. Just a small trickling of things on my mind.
I don't know how to say this:
It's no big secret that during the summers my creative output seems to grind to an unappealing halt. Actual pen on paper, or fingers on keyboard type writing is always at a minimum. It happens occasionally but never with any real results. Just rantings, drabbles (that could admittedly one day turn into something should I ever feel the need to revisit the scribblings) and diary type entries, much like this one. But largely any creative tendencies my mind has are just passing thoughts, and possible fan characters for existing series. Nothing really spectacular. The closer I get to graduation, the more the lack of free writing worries me.
All summer I've had the nagging feeling at the back of my head that I should be doing something. I should be writing. I could be creating a world no one has ever thought of, crafting the beginnings of a tale that could capture the worlds hearts or some shit like that. But then I go back to doing whatever it is I'm doing. Mostly because, I haven't found my original world yet. I haven't been able to sit down and plan out what the world will look like, what will happen to it, and who will be there.
But then, as I wrote that last sentence, I remembered something (which means that this blog post probably won't go where I wanted it to go at all). (In my opinion) The best stories are never planned. I've never written that way. My best work never comes from something that I've tried to plan out, in any aspect of my life. I like not knowing what will happen. If I don't know what will happen readers probably won't either. There's a certain lack of predictability when the story flows straight from the heart. The characters come alive in a way that they're not allowed to when they're preplanned.
So I begin to wonder, why am I so concerned about writing in a way that has never come naturally to me. The best thing for me to do, would to be to just sit down and write. Not from some pre-planned notes. Not from a half-formed out line, but from my heart. And if sitting down to write produces nothing "inspiring" then there's even a form of inspiration in that. Of course, this process only works well for the fictional realm. The second I tried to apply this method to a more non-fictional setting, everything fell to shit in 30 seconds flat and I ended up cursing myself, my 'work', the assignment, and everyone even mildly involved.
I suppose the purpose of that mild revelation was to tell myself to just relax. To just find a character (of which there are plenty floating around in my head) and write about their lives until something interesting pops up. It doesn't have to be amazing. It never has to be amazing. Even the most (seemingly) ordinary situations can provide incite into life and the human condition. Which is the only thing I've set out to do from the beginning anyway. To show life as it is, for better or worse. Be that through dragons and goblins, or average ordinary people. The goal is always the same, and I needed to remember that. So I'm glad I did.
But that wasn't the point of all this. What I set out to do was detail what I do, without fail, every summer while I'm distinctly not writing much.
As I've said before, my obsession with stories, and the art of written storytelling has kind of been ingrained in me since I was little(er). And as such, while to the outside viewer I may appear to be doing jack shit with my summers, I have always been amassing a large amount of stories. Of all kinds. I've been through countless stories this summer alone. Some I read for the craft, to see how they were put together, what the good parts were, how it was accomplished, if I've ever done something like that, if I'll ever be able to do something like that. Other's I've read for the simple joy of the story. To see where the story is going, what the characters feel, and if that feeling was transferred over to me.
I've been trying to sample all different kinds of stories. In high school, my primary reading base was fantasy novels. With a few science fiction adventures thrown in. I've expanded my tastes more, I've read different kinds of stories (I have yet to expand myself into the sappy love stories that my sister loves so much, but I'll probably try at least one sometime soon) my bookshelves are no longer solely inhabited by fantasy works (though I won't lie, MOST of them still are).
Not all of them are stories contained in the pages of novels though. The same process happens with stories in any medium. Movies, games, plays, anything. I look at the words on the page, and while part of me is enjoying the story simply for the story, as time wears on (and this part of me starts becoming more noticeable) the other part is taking note of the words used, how they're being used, why they're being used, and the effectiveness. This part of me is becoming both comforting, and annoying. I'm glad that I'm discerning these details now. It means that I have actually been learning something at school, and retaining it. But it also means that I get ripped out of the fictional dream because of bad prose. Not too bad of a trade off, but when I'm simply reading an article in time and then literally laugh out loud and change stories because of a poorly done lead... well I'm a bit concerned. Normal people don't read the newspaper to see if the writing is up to par. They read it for the news. I read it to see if it's shit or not, who cares about the content.
Mildly concerning indeed. But. Again, it means that my own craft is improving. And that I can see the mistakes of others, and try not to repeat them myself. I don't know how well it's carried over into the journalistic side of things, but at least my prose has improved. Journalism style writing, well that's a different beast that will probably require a lot more work before I can even pretend to say I have any idea what I'm doing. But some aspects have improved, and for now, that's enough.
...though, ridiculously soon that won't be enough either... stupid looming graduation.
Quote of the Day:
"Friends have the power to excel your life, or destroy it."
- Adam Murphy
I don't know how to say this:
It's no big secret that during the summers my creative output seems to grind to an unappealing halt. Actual pen on paper, or fingers on keyboard type writing is always at a minimum. It happens occasionally but never with any real results. Just rantings, drabbles (that could admittedly one day turn into something should I ever feel the need to revisit the scribblings) and diary type entries, much like this one. But largely any creative tendencies my mind has are just passing thoughts, and possible fan characters for existing series. Nothing really spectacular. The closer I get to graduation, the more the lack of free writing worries me.
All summer I've had the nagging feeling at the back of my head that I should be doing something. I should be writing. I could be creating a world no one has ever thought of, crafting the beginnings of a tale that could capture the worlds hearts or some shit like that. But then I go back to doing whatever it is I'm doing. Mostly because, I haven't found my original world yet. I haven't been able to sit down and plan out what the world will look like, what will happen to it, and who will be there.
But then, as I wrote that last sentence, I remembered something (which means that this blog post probably won't go where I wanted it to go at all). (In my opinion) The best stories are never planned. I've never written that way. My best work never comes from something that I've tried to plan out, in any aspect of my life. I like not knowing what will happen. If I don't know what will happen readers probably won't either. There's a certain lack of predictability when the story flows straight from the heart. The characters come alive in a way that they're not allowed to when they're preplanned.
So I begin to wonder, why am I so concerned about writing in a way that has never come naturally to me. The best thing for me to do, would to be to just sit down and write. Not from some pre-planned notes. Not from a half-formed out line, but from my heart. And if sitting down to write produces nothing "inspiring" then there's even a form of inspiration in that. Of course, this process only works well for the fictional realm. The second I tried to apply this method to a more non-fictional setting, everything fell to shit in 30 seconds flat and I ended up cursing myself, my 'work', the assignment, and everyone even mildly involved.
I suppose the purpose of that mild revelation was to tell myself to just relax. To just find a character (of which there are plenty floating around in my head) and write about their lives until something interesting pops up. It doesn't have to be amazing. It never has to be amazing. Even the most (seemingly) ordinary situations can provide incite into life and the human condition. Which is the only thing I've set out to do from the beginning anyway. To show life as it is, for better or worse. Be that through dragons and goblins, or average ordinary people. The goal is always the same, and I needed to remember that. So I'm glad I did.
But that wasn't the point of all this. What I set out to do was detail what I do, without fail, every summer while I'm distinctly not writing much.
As I've said before, my obsession with stories, and the art of written storytelling has kind of been ingrained in me since I was little(er). And as such, while to the outside viewer I may appear to be doing jack shit with my summers, I have always been amassing a large amount of stories. Of all kinds. I've been through countless stories this summer alone. Some I read for the craft, to see how they were put together, what the good parts were, how it was accomplished, if I've ever done something like that, if I'll ever be able to do something like that. Other's I've read for the simple joy of the story. To see where the story is going, what the characters feel, and if that feeling was transferred over to me.
I've been trying to sample all different kinds of stories. In high school, my primary reading base was fantasy novels. With a few science fiction adventures thrown in. I've expanded my tastes more, I've read different kinds of stories (I have yet to expand myself into the sappy love stories that my sister loves so much, but I'll probably try at least one sometime soon) my bookshelves are no longer solely inhabited by fantasy works (though I won't lie, MOST of them still are).
Not all of them are stories contained in the pages of novels though. The same process happens with stories in any medium. Movies, games, plays, anything. I look at the words on the page, and while part of me is enjoying the story simply for the story, as time wears on (and this part of me starts becoming more noticeable) the other part is taking note of the words used, how they're being used, why they're being used, and the effectiveness. This part of me is becoming both comforting, and annoying. I'm glad that I'm discerning these details now. It means that I have actually been learning something at school, and retaining it. But it also means that I get ripped out of the fictional dream because of bad prose. Not too bad of a trade off, but when I'm simply reading an article in time and then literally laugh out loud and change stories because of a poorly done lead... well I'm a bit concerned. Normal people don't read the newspaper to see if the writing is up to par. They read it for the news. I read it to see if it's shit or not, who cares about the content.
Mildly concerning indeed. But. Again, it means that my own craft is improving. And that I can see the mistakes of others, and try not to repeat them myself. I don't know how well it's carried over into the journalistic side of things, but at least my prose has improved. Journalism style writing, well that's a different beast that will probably require a lot more work before I can even pretend to say I have any idea what I'm doing. But some aspects have improved, and for now, that's enough.
...though, ridiculously soon that won't be enough either... stupid looming graduation.
Quote of the Day:
"Friends have the power to excel your life, or destroy it."
- Adam Murphy
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