Wherein I Talk About Words As If They're People

I've been encouraging people to read my blog lately. This is absolutely frightening behavior for me. As a general rule, I don't even tell people about anything I write, or if I do it's in passing and if they ask about it I sort of gloss over it. "Oh you write a blog?" "Yeah. So I was doing the laundry yesterday and I found a receipt for Sheetz, which I haven't been to in like, a month. How the hell long has it been since I washed those jeans?" "You mentioned short stories?" "I basically just write anything, to clear some space in my head so I have more room to analyze how Sherlock survived that fall last season."

Things like that.

But I keep reconnecting with people who seem to think there's something interesting about me, and it's making me think there might actually be something interesting about me. So I'm all, yes read my work and help validate my existence. Except that isn't how I feel anymore. I used to think that in order for me to feel confident in my work and about my work that people had to like it. In a way, a very small way, I do still think that, but I've found myself at a point in life recently where I can feel confident regardless of whether people will like it. This world is nowhere near as small as people keep saying it is. It is incredibly vast, and there are so many people on it, and they all have different tastes. So if I'm going to be a successful author, I can't keep writing in the hopes of making everyone love me. I have to write so that I love me, and keep believing that the audience I'm trying to reach is also trying to find me.

The other day I woke up with residual writer's block from the previous evening when I had apparently exhausted all of my mental faculties, which culminated in my writing the same sentence almost word for word three different times with the exception of the last effort, where I actually wrote "insert character name here" instead of the characters name. Which I knew. So I decided it was time for bed. Woke up the next morning feeling the same exhaustion but instead of taking a break from writing and waiting for it to come to me, as is my usual approach, I made myself a cup of coffee (cream, no sugar), opened up the document, and forced myself to write. Forty-five minutes later I had written just over one thousand words. And not only did I not absolutely despise them, they were actually kind of okay. Maybe I'm growing.

I forgot to mention this, or maybe I didn't, but I surpassed my goal for November of 50,000 words by 7. I set the whole thing aside and didn't come back to it until a few days before Christmas. When I deleted more than half of them. That's right. I went through each story, found the really awful parts, found the not-so-good parts, found the parts that were kind of good but felt forced, I even found some really good parts that in a different context would've worked really well. And I deleted the fuck out of them.

When I told a friend about this, it was like I had slapped her in the face, In all honesty, this reaction never occurred to me. At some point very recently, I decided that if I keep holding on to things in the hopes of them getting better I'll never be able to get to the things that are already better, the things that don't need so much work and hand-holding, the things that take so much more time than they should. Writing should be like being in love. Sometimes it's really easy and it just makes sense and it doesn't take any effort whatsoever, it just happens. Sometimes it does take effort, and it is work, but both parties are working, both parties want the best for each other. The things I had to let go of, they weren't working with me. They didn't want to help. They didn't have my best interests in mind. I had theirs in mind, and I knew they would be better off without me. The thing that felt most natural to me, was deleting them. So I set them free.

Maybe they'll come back. But if they don't, it's not the end of the world. If they don't, we'll both still manage.

The Embrace of Love and Resistance

It had been awhile since I posted anything recently, which obviously meant that one of the three people who read this had to send me a text asking why for, so that I would get back to work regaling them (as well as a small portion of Russia, apparently) with the details of my super-awesome-exciting-day-to-day-life.

Things that have happened recently:

• Finally got the library job! It was confirmed about two weeks ago, I don't start until mid-January, and I have to dress like I give a damn (thank fuck). I also had to a write a formal letter of acceptance, which I wasn't even sure how to do. I get the general concept, it's pretty self-explanatory, but they really emphasized the acceptance letter so I asked my good friend Google about it and Google was like, 'don't be a dumb bitch, Storm, read this article.' And so I did.
• Finished the collection of short stories! Sort of. I finished some of the stories, wrote just over 50,000 words total, but didn't write 13 different stories. As I predicted, a few of the stories and I got along better than some of the others and I focused more on those ones, because the ideas came easier. Then I re-read my work, and decided I fucking hated it. So I deleted almost as many words as I had written and I'm starting from scratch.
• We hosted Christmas Eve! And it went pretty well, if I do say. I'm quite proud of Jeremy and myself. He got really drunk, I, surprisingly, did not. Also had alcoholic eggnog for the first time ever. It kinda tastes like cough syrup.

Since it's New Years Eve, (you guys it's freaking New Years Eve) I feel like I should write about resolutions or some nonsense, but I don't make resolutions. So here's this instead: 

Storm's Continued Happiness Plan

Live every day being a little kind, being a little selfish, giving a crap, not giving a crap, being angry, being hopeful, wanting more, being happy with what you have, loving some things with all your heart, loving some things just a little bit, not loving some things at all, wanting to change the world in any way possible, wanting to make a difference, accepting that you probably won't make a difference but trying anyway, always doing your best, not really trying at all, being honest with yourself and with others even if it means hurting someone (but don't intentionally hurt others with honesty), and most importantly, live every day like it's your life. Cause it is.

And now, some insight from Jack London that always makes me feel like I should be shouting from mountain tops, or being badass in slow-motion.

I would rather be ashes than dust!

I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot.

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

The proper function of man is to live, not to exist.

I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them.

I shall use my time.