Authorship

The other day, I was thinking about my one-time dream of being an author. Well, is it a one-time dream? I certainly wanted to do hat more than anything until the age of 13, where I decided I wanted to be a rockstar more than anything. But author was always there, patiently, waiting in the background. After all, isn’t a lyricist a writer?

In fact, that’s the story of my dream of being an author: patience and subtle inclusion. I have a lot of friends who are looking to write a novel this year, or the year after… some people, with the helkp of NaNoWriMo, have even managed. Not I. Anything I write know will be half-baked and artless, and since I know I can do better, I will wait. I know that at this stage in my life, I’m not good enough; I haven’t read enough, I don’t understand the craft of a beautifully constructed plot intuitively, and crucially I haven’t got enough life experience. The people you meet, the hobbies you have, the places you go all inform how you write. Even though I would prefer to write fantastical books for children and young adults (not a realm which demands great profundity and realism) my experience isn’t enough. I haven’t had kids, for a start. Or a boyfriend!

All my life I have been blessed with far-reaching patience. I was never stressed about having a boyfriend in school because I know that eventually I would find someone. And equally, I never really worried that my time is up for writing, or that the fact that I can’t construct a plot means I’m not a good writer. I am confident in my ability to phrase myself well, to write with grace and, on occasion, humour. And it’s not a lack of ideas which is stopping me: characters and scenes present themselves to me so often that iI have to carry a notebook with me which I regularly empty. Some of the best books have come from dreams, or moments on trains – others have been years in the womb. I hope mine will be a bit of both.

As usual, I finish this blog with the sardonic thought: “Oh yes, you NEEDED to know this.” I must admit, I’m struggling to break out of the egocentricity a blog can tempt into.

But now I’m hungry! Breakfast time!

In Theory

Thank you, I really appreciate the comments. But I really don’t want to talk about it, especially not with the internet.

Oh, it’s such a witty play on words, isn’t it? I’m watching In Treatment, so I named this post In Theory. Get it? Not yet? Oh wait, there’s a bit missing :D

I’ve also been looking at a website called Jung at Heart, which is interesting to me as it’s run by a psychotherapist who reviews every episode of In Treatment (a show which televises a psychotherapists’ week with his various patients in a non-dramatic way, almost like a play in its simplicity) from the point of view of a trained therapist. I’m surprised at how interesting I find psychotherapeutic theory!

Enough blah blah blah. She wrote about this emotional/psychological phenomenon that humans would rather be bad (i.e. to blame for their sin, their troubles, their failed relationships) than powerless.

“Most of us would rather be bad than weak, rather be responsible for the bad things that happen, the failed relationships, than to accept that we cannot control the world and others. Because if I believe I am bad and make people treat me as they do, that means if I work hard enough, I can change and in changing, change them too. But to know that I am weak, that I have no control over other people and their behaviour places me at the mercy of forces beyond me and means I am unable to make the world be as I wish it were.”

Interesting stuff! Not sure how much it applies to me, since I’ve not yet experienced any upheaval in my life I could blame myself for… and I’ve always (rather oddly, I suppose), prided myself on my ability to forgive bot myself and others, utterly.

Look at this, closely: It’s brilliant!

I think this picture is hilarious, and … vaguely… relevant? It’s form artdungeon, and I love the way she depicts the Harry Potter series.

 

*if you’re struggling to fin the humour, Santa doesn’t know where to put Snape on the bad/good list!

in Therapy

I just wrote a whole blog which ended with ‘Do NOT respond.”

I then realised it probably wasn’t something I should put on the internet.

Instead I’ll give you a little anecdote: A few weeks ago I was on the train. I put down the folding table in front of me and found some folded up pages of typescript. A cursory glance told me it was a story. I spent the next few hours imagining that I had discovered a few pages from an author’s preliminary manuscript. Perhaps I could contact the author. Perhaps it was a little glimpse into his soul, or his imaginarium. Private; he hadn’t meant for it to be found. Or read. Or thought about.

At the end of the day, I curled up in bed and unfolded the pages. It was a dull and detailed account of a poker game.

Life is shit.

I thought about it for a while though and came to a different train of thought. I don’t only write my diary to be read. I’m never leaving anything on a train, diary or not. I’m surprisingly private – some of my friends say uptight. I don’t mind sharing as long as I can choose who I share with. I can tell people I’ve known for ten days about my nationality complex, but if any of my years-long friends even discover a fanfiction I have written, or an essay about Hinduism, I would feel very uncomfortable. ANrgy, even, that it was not in my control what they knew about my mind.

I shouldn’t have posted here about deep dark problems, and I won’t again. The internet is no a void, it’s full of people, people I know, people I do not want to talk about my indiscriminate thoughts with.

Sorry that this sounds so bitter and defensive; I always intend to write something light-hearted. I don’t know why my blogs always come across so dark and angry when I’m pretty sure I’m fine at the moment. Perhaps I’m not, but that’s not for you to know.

xxx F