This next few entries will be some essays I wrote a while back. The idea being I’d publish a small book of personal essays on life. I guess there’s not much more point for those kinds of books anymore as isn’t that basically what we all have blogs for? This one’s on writing.
It’s truly encouraging to sit oneself down at the computer and decide to write. Your mind is spinning with ideas, you feel the creative juices flowing. You can change the world if you just write! Or, at the very least, make a good bit of money and retire from the drudgery of the real world.
I sit down, browse to my “Stories” directory, and create a new Word document. What do I name it? “Another Story.doc!”
Ok, so perhaps I’ve tried a few times in vain to get something rolling. (And I make absolutely no claims that this attempt is any different!) Now, I could blame my lack of success I’ve had on my children, Jessie and Nigel. I go into the office, close my door, and sit down to type. They both cry and shove themselves against the door, shoving their limbs under the door as far as they go. I just tell them to shut up or I’ll spray them again, which I sometimes do. Never works though. Their will is far stronger than mine! So, I cave in and crack the door. Of course, they come in several minutes later, as if they didn’t actually want in, they just happened to be coming in because the door is open. Nigel promptly jumps into my lap, and Jessie finds the most inconvenient cubby or corner to crawl into and begin attacking and chewing wires. Yes, my children are cats. But I still love them despite their shedding!
But no, it isn’t them that stop me from success, even though every few minutes (like just now) I have to get up and yell “No Jessie” or “Drop that right this instant!” For some reason I almost expect them to obey. Instead they give me their best teenager look of “oh, please” and continue their antics. Cats and teenagers are like that in common, they can both tune you completely unless you mean business. At least cats pretend to like you once in a while so they can get their ears rubbed. Nigel’s particularly good at the sweet routine. Jessie would be just as good if she could just resist the temptation to take a nice little bite out of your hand as you pet her.
No, it’s my lack of determination. It doesn’t come easily to me, so I give up. It’s the story of my life. I do well at a few things, and quite well at some of those. Other things, well, I just don’t do. I threw a ball once growing up as a kid and promptly turned away thinking “You’re going to have to drag me back here kicking and screaming to do that again.” Yes, that also should have been my first flashing lavender light going off that I’m gay. I’m quite well aware of that now. Unfortunately, I was a bit daft in that area for some number of years, and it took until college and the advent of internet gay porn before I picked up on all those clues. But, I get ahead of myself, that’s Chapter 4 or so (what you expected 20 or something? I’m 24…I don’t have THAT many chapters to my life just yet).
If I could just sit down for an hour or so at my desk, then walk back into the other room and go “Honey, look…my first 500 page novel!” Then I’d be a best-selling author by now. I would start off on the bookshelves of those kitschy little coffeehouses that are at the intersection of the two main streets in the gay ghetto of every major city in the world. Your local gay district has one, right? Eventually, I’d move on to Barnes & Noble, and soon I’d be popping up in everyone’s recommendations list on Amazon.com. The list of “other works by this author” would have to be paginated, bestseller after bestseller being listed.
Reality is a whole other matter. I have these great ideas, and I think I have a great plan for turning this idea into a story every time. I’m a huge science fiction/fantasy fan, so of course my first 5 dozen attempts involved a storyline with either an elf or a laser gun or some such in it. But it’s the sheer scale of the task involved that I find so daunting. I will write and write and write, thinking I’m really doing great moving the storyline along, and really developing my characters. Then, I make the mistake. I look down at the bottom of the Word window. Page 5/5 it says! They really should make an author mode for those who feel creatively inclined. After I’ve introduced my main characters, and brought them into the first major plot development, it should tell me I’m on page 84 instead of page 5.
I think to myself, how could I possibly have packed so much development into so little space? I should go in and elaborate. One, I know this is a horrible thing to do as a writer. Write the whole damn thing first, then go back and edit. If you start editing the first five pages, you’re going to continue until you’ve fixed every spelling, grammar, plot, and character mistake you’ve made, and you’ll never get anywhere. Plus, there’s a fifty percent chance you’ll end up throwing out those five pages anyway. And with me, there’s a 99 percent chance (I still have hope) that you’ll never get much further than that fifth page.
Regardless, I delve into those well-written, detailed five pages and expand and re-write sections. I click on each of the annoying little green and red squigglies that Word presents (see…there it goes again…like the word “squigglies” isn’t in the dictionary!) and correct them in some way. I have a $1000 PC my dad put together correcting 12 years of public school and 4 years of $20,000 a year college grammar. That last sentence I’m sure is a perfect example of just how well my grammar is and how wrong Word is. Regardless, I take Word’s suggestion that I should use “, which” instead of “that”, and “well-written” instead of “well written”.
Ah-ha. Much better. Page 7/7. Hmm. That still can’t be right. So, done for the evening, having poured my creative juices out all over my desk (and having cleaned up afterwards), I shut down the PC and turn on the creative-juice drying television. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who goes on about how awful the TV is for the mind. I’m perfectly well aware of how horrible the TV is for the mind. But, to the people out there who have that opinion, this is my rebuttal. I LIKE TV! There, enough said.
Two days later, two weeks later, sometimes two months or even years later I come back and re-open an old story that I was writing. For two reasons…one, to review it and see how well it was written (perhaps it can help me in writing a good story for this new idea I have at the time), and two, because I have no idea what “Other Story.doc” was about. So, I open the file in Word and begin reading.
What the hell is this crap? I can’t even tell what the point of the story was. Secondly, I’m writing stream of consciousness style (that phrase still makes me think of my high school teacher telling me about how Herman Melville wrote in a stream of consciousness style…and after reading Billy Budd I have now associated the phrase with a connotation of absolute pain and torture), so the sentences don’t even make sense. To understand why we the collective readers jumped from inside Jill’s head to the computer console of Jim, we would have to also have handy the innards of my brain at that particular point in time.
It’s one thing to not go back and edit the last few pages of text you wrote, it’s another to at least go back and re-read before you forget all the little tidbits you were thinking of that day when you wrote. At least make a note in another document about why the girl flashed back to her childhood when she saw a store display when walking down the street.
My other problem is trying to hard to write to a certain formula. For starters, I always tried to write a novel by writing a novel. By that, I mean I would try to start from the beginning, run through the middle, and wrap it up at the end, regardless of whether that was the easiest way to do it. I would have to write these little “intro scenes” which are so typical in your average pulp fiction science fiction or fantasy novel. You know, the scene where it starts “Ka’el jumped out of the way of the hoa’r’ver just in time. He was really getting tired of this”. And this little snippet of day to day life on the planet bleger-splot is supposed to enthrall the reader and keep them pinned to their seat for the next 7 or 743 pages, however long the novel is. (Much like this thrilling section, which, as per formula, is my introduction and I am of course writing it first). Well, these little settings were all so contrived that they had absolutely no plot value, no meaningful dialogue, and no character development. To top it off, they were just BAD. I mean, I had a reasonably good idea for a science fiction novel involving technology, division of society, and a misunderstanding of cultures. When the time is right, I still hope to make some progress on that idea. However, I started the novel off in my initial attempt with a snowball fight between two girls. I don’t need sleeping pills now, I can just read those two or three pages (yes, the entire opening scene wrapped up by page 3) and I’m fine.
So, more recently, I’ve taken to writing more of a narrative style. You know, the funny, oh too true type of quasi-non-fiction that gay men read and write. Of course, I have several attempts already started. Everything from an autobiography, to a fictionalized autobiography, to this. God knows what’s next. I know I’m certainly not the next Michael Ford Thomas (1) . But, I have my thoughts, my opinions, and my somewhat limited life history to share and to introspect on. Writing is half therapy for the author anyways, I’ve always believed. First of all, releasing that creative urge that builds up in you, is like well, you get the idea. (Don’t worry, I’m certainly not going to be shy or refrained throughout) Secondly, the writer has thoughts, emotions, or goals that drive what he or she is writing. Also, I’m hoping there are benefits to my writing and my sharing it with you. Fame and money are two I have no qualms about accepting should they land in my lap. Being a friend to someone, maybe even helping out that one person who reads anything I write and connects with it would make all this worthwhile (as long as the check arrives and is processed fine by my bank).
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(This was originally written in MS Word) Nifty little stars above wouldn’t you say? Except for my word processor of course “intelligently converted” them to a line of dots. Oh sure, it looks more professional and all than a series of asterisks. But now my witty little reference to the line of stars above that I wished to start with is pointless. That, and the fact that if this ever were to be put into print, I’m certain the typeset this is printed in would definitely not leave a short line of asterisks in between sections, a short line which varies in length between sections. I’m anal, not THAT anal… I just hold down shift+8 long enough til my heart’s content.
Regardless however, the significance of the little broken line above, or asterisks, or tiny images of nude men (you really have to squint, or just trust me on this, I’m sure I can talk the publisher into that) signifies something. It signifies that I set down my figurative pen, did a Ctrl+S (that saves the file for you non-computer geeks) and walked away. Move down a few lines to the start of the next cute section, and you’ll quickly be aware of the fact that I’ve radically changed the subject, tone, perspective, and yes, possibly even tense and point of view of my writing. Well, probably not that last one as this is a narrative, and I SHOULD be able to remember that that should be from a first person perspective throughout. (I am well on my way here, right? … WHAT?…. Page 4/4?? Sigh).
Well, let’s review what you’ve learned about me so far, shall we? I am:
• A frustrated writer
• Gay
• A computer geek who uses Microsoft Word to write
Oh, and as you just discovered, I absolutely love bullet point lists. I use them at work all the time. Bonuses of using bullet point lists?
• They take up lots of space as there’s a blank line before and after to “set them apart visually” as I’m sure any good English teacher would tell you.
• No need for complete sentences, or punctuation.
See, those two lists bumped me to 5 pages now. Come to think of it, in print this is probably all going to shrink down to be on the first page.
Well, anyway, I’m in a bite more of a down mood as I sit down to write this bit tonight. Not that you’d notice from my flippant style, but I do have to keep this entertaining after all. Strap on your seat belts here gents, we’re about to take a slight detour in my thought processes. Don’t worry, I know your’e concerned, we WILL be getting back to why I’m down tonight.
I believe I mentioned a bit back how I believe writing is 50% therapy, 50% paycheck, or something like that. It’s really true. It helps me to express myself in this medium. I kept (and am still keeping, sort of) an electronic journal for several years. I’m still keeping it if writing in it once a year counts. Now, I suppose this narrative will have to do. The only problem with this format is someday (perhaps) it will be written somewhere. I’ll sit down to my breakfast, and excitedly pick up a hard copy (or paperback, or the magazine/pamphlet/you get the idea) of my published work, and excitedly begin reading. God, I’ll think, why and the hell did I let these personal thoughts get published?
Another aside – it’s always been a thing for me (no, this isn’t anything sexual) that if I were ever published, I would sit down and read my work in the format it is published. That is, I’d go and buy a copy (or hopefully get at least one copy delivered for free) of the book or magazine or whatever, and read my writing in the same format/edition as everyone else will. I’m not sure if it’s an ego thing, or I want to connect to my readers, or I’m just idiosyncratic. I suppose the real litmus test would be if I sit down and read it all in one sitting or if I get bored after a few weeks and quit reading.
You may now disembark. Mental detour complete. Yes, I’m down a bit, but the writing is helping. An explanation first though (which, yes, could technically classify as another mental detour). I think I’m polar. Manic/depressive. Whatever you call it. My emotions are a roller coaster sometimes. Ok, all the time, I just try not to count the times when there’s a long high or a long low. It’s taken me a long time to admit to this, and this is the first time I really have. When you put it in writing (or say it aloud), that’s when it really seems to become true, and sink in. At least for me.
I remember that’s the way it was for me when I realized I was gay. I finally wrote about it in my diary. I was in college at the time in College Station, Texas at Texas A&M University. I was rooming with a former military paratrooper who I had met skydiving (no – he was straight, and homophobic, and yes, this was Texas, so he had a concealed handgun). Odd couple doesn’t begin to describe it. How had destiny led me to this roommate? Looking back on it, I think my straight-attempting self went for one last wild fling “hey, dude, if I can hang with this straight guy then I am way cool as straight guys go!!” I must have thought.
We met skydiving in the spring of my sophomore year. Very thrilling experience, skydiving, I’ll share more sometime when I’m not so far off topic. We hung out some that spring, went to parties. So, I decided to make the big move off campus and we got an apartment together. Then, I went home for the summer.
Now, for the last two years I had been secretly looking at porn on the newly discovered internet. This was back when www was just beginning to mean something. And, it wasn’t just mere dial up access we’re talking about here my friend. True, pure high speed net (to computer geeks this is like good crack, or the closest we’ll ever come). So I’m not just talking about an occasional story or blurry pic. No, I was going at it with the best of the best. Usenet newsgroups, web sites, videos, pics, stories, you name it. Of course, it was straight porn at first. Then, at some point I had discovered gay porn and “made the switch”. How a person who considers themselves straight can log on every day and download hours of gay porn can look themselves in the mirror is beyond me now. But I was doing it.
So anyway, I’ve come back from the summer and moved back in with my roommate. I had gone all summer long living with my parents (no high speed access, and what 19 year old in their right mind is going to download porn in their parent’s house? I was WAY too afraid). I was horny as hell. Now true, I had to adjust to the fact that moving off campus away from the dorms meant also moving away from high speed access.
So, my roomie and I started out the new year ok. We went to a few parties, I hung out with my old friends still on campus some. But I was quickly separating myself from my old “dorm buds”. I told myself at the time that it was because I felt they were stuck in a lifestyle I was tired of, but I realized later that I wasn’t referring to where they lived. Later, I regretted my decision to pull away from them. They were good friends, several from high school. I stayed in touch, but I never again really felt that close to them as I did before, and they were real, true blue friends. Nevertheless, I had set out on a path. It felt exciting to me at the time, I was the one of my friends who had moved “off campus”. I was different, unique.
The only problem was, I was pulling away from my new roommate as well. Truth be told, I didn’t care for his friends much either as their primary entertainment was hanging out drinking beer (which I still to this day despise the taste of!) and well, doing nothing. Boh-ring! So, I was online a lot (yes, this time you’re right, doing you know what) while my roommate was often over at his friends’ places hanging out. I just listened closely for that telltale thud as the front door opened. I had my computer in my room with the door shut, however because of the phone line placement, I had my monitor aimed right at the door. I dreaded the day he would sneak in and open that door unannounced as some beefy guy was loudly banging some blond in a video I was watching. (And no, no typical fantasies would follow in my mind from that point, you know, where the roommate comes in and watches too – he was definitely not that type and definitely not MY type). That was the other thing – I didn’t realize just how homophobic this guy was til I moved in. Now, I never gave him the benefit of the doubt. I could have come out to him, and he could have been the most understanding guy in the world (“No prob – my bud in the army was gay too…”). Then again, well, we won’t go there.
Remember, he did show me proudly the day after I had moved in (and thankfully my mom had returned home) that he had just earned his conceal’n’carry license the other day and was now the proud owner of a sidearm. For those who did not grow up in Texas, where rifle racks and guns in the home are as run of the mill as vanilla ice cream, the conceal’ n’carry allowed you to, yes, carry a gun in your pants anywhere you went that did not explicitly put up “NO guns allowed” signs. Really added character to fine restaraunts I thought to have an icon on the front door of a gun with a slash through it right next to the no smoking sign. Very classy.
So, let’s see, where was I going with this. Oh, yes. Coming out. Well, I finally came to the great epiphany that since, yes, I did get off to men and only men, especially the idea of men WITH other men, then I was gay. There was a period when I had admitted it to myself, but not really ADMITTED it. Yeah, I was, but, hey, you know, I wasn’t really… Meaning, no one knew about it, I’d never really “acted” on it (other than downloaded gigabytes of gay pornography), so I could plausibly deny it as if I would one day be questioned on the subject in court.
Well, I’m writing in that journal I mentioned one day. I was particularly down, and was doing some soul searching. And, in my stream of clicks on the beige (who picked that color anyways?) keyboard, I admitted I was gay. Some impulse in me made me yank the mouse over to the save icon and click repeatedly as if to etch the words in stone in a techno-age kind of fashion (yes, I could just as easily delete them then save again – don’t ruin my story here). I stared at the black words floating before me on screen. I was gay? I was gay. I was gay! Hmm.
It was sort of a transition for me. Admittance had come in two phases. A faux internal admittance, sort of a dry run. I had told myself I was gay, and I had told myself I believed it. I had then subconsciously whispered to myself “just kidding” and did a big mental sigh of relief. But, once it was in writing, I had really said it. No taking it back, no “just kidding”. At that point, your mind moves it over into some other memory storage, shifts gears in your perspective. I was no longer this straight guy struggling with some weird gay impulse, toying with calling myself gay. I was gay. I was a gay man.
Now, it didn’t happen overnight. But I did get a new perspective fairly quickly. Suddenly, my anxiety that I felt when at the computer looking at porn had spread. Before, I was just anxious over what my friends would say if they found their straight friend looking at gay porn. Now, I sat on a bean bag in a friend’s dorm room watching TV, thinking: “I’m sitting here, gay, and they don’t know it. What would they do if they knew?”
It would plague me for months. Your mind runs through more scenarios a minute than the most successful novelist could ever hope to dream up. They’d hate me, they’d think it was fine, someone else would come out too, god knows what would happen.
Anyway, the rest of my little gay saga and of course the coming out story in a future section. (Just skim ahead and look for the little line of stars or tiny nude men and look for a sentence starting something like “I was nervous as hell, but I felt it was finally time to tell”. If you find the sentence starting “I was nervous as hell, but I really wanted to do this”, then keep going unless you’re reading this just for the sex, as that’s just my first sexual experience).
What that tiny little side path was for was to relay how I feel about putting down in words my realization that I’m manic/depressive. It really helps me to feel better about myself to see that in writing, to know that I’ve admitted it. Now, I don’t think I’ll be admitting myself tomorrow or taking Prozac, I don’t think I’m THAT bad. Admittedly, either I’m just not that far yet, or I’m really not that bad. Still, it’s good to be aware of who and what you are, and what are your characteristics and limitations. It’s so hard to look outside yourself and turn the lens back on you. We see ourselves as we are, as we once were, and as we wish ourselves to appear, but rarely as we are to the outside world. I’m manic depressive, I get worked up about things, I attach too much importance to trivial things. Little things go bad and stack up two or three deep and I’m measuring the drop from my office window to the ground. A little bit goes well and some endorphins kick in, suddenly I’m high as a kite. Sure, the highs are great, I think it’s important to enjoy life. But it’s not the right high if I’m enjoying life just because everything’s perfect. Life is too quick, too fleeting, not to do your best to enjoy what you can of it all the time, even when a few things are not going your way.
This is my “footnote” I oh so cleverly added when I originally wrote this. Good luck finding the original reference to it.
1. Have you ever wondered what happens when you mention someone like that in something you’re writing? I mean, first of all, you have to just get published for it to even matter. It’s not like a friend is going to sit down and read you’re half finished novel and go “My god, how could you include his name without his permission?” Not that I’d even induce that type of torture on my friends. But really, does someone like Michael Ford Thomas read this one day and go “Oh, wow, I’m famous now” (or something much more witty I’m sure would come from his mouth). Or, would he say “Oh, hmm, I don’t like that at all, it’s going to have to go and be replaced with Dan Savage or someone else”.