writing what you know

"Write what you know"

When I first heard this proscription for writing, I was a little worried. What I knew? What I knew was middle-class American suburbia; the increasingly atypical family of still-married Mom and Dad, two kids, and a dog (and three rabbits). I'd never been out of the country, and never out of my home state for more than a vacation. What I knew was very, very small. But what I dreamt...what I imagined...that was infinite and beautiful. I wanted to write about those things- the flights of fancy and the amazing stories, not boring reality. But how could I call myself a writer if I didn't follow that advice? So I plodded along, trying to write what I thought I knew. I hit high school and the idea of "what I knew" became amorphous, pliable. How could I know what I knew, anyway? I hadn't really lived yet. Eventually, in a fit of teenaged pique and rebellion, I screamed, "who the hell cares what I know!" and went back to writing fantasy.

In my senior year, one of my teachers introduced me to the works of Joseph Campbell. The next semester I assisted a teacher in a mythology class. Suddenly what I knew began to mesh with my dreams. The legends, myths, and stories I read found explanation in the words of Campbell, Jung, Fauconnier, Lakoff, and others. I realized that myths were a heightened form of what humanity knew. They were the stories told to remember, to explain, and to teach, and in an age without "rational" science, were very much the sum of what a culture knew. But there was something deeper, too, beneath the "and there was a volcano so they made up a story about the demon in the mountain" explanations. These myths weren't just explanations for the world, they were the world. To the culture who told the story, it was true. It was real. It was what they knew. And now, it was what I knew, too.

Since then I have never hesitated to write speculative fiction, keeping always in my head the knowledge that I am telling a story about people, and the things they know. The world they live in may be different from where I now sit, but in truth the world I see is different from the one every single person who reads this sees. But it is what we know, and, to us, is true. My real world has people in it that live out their whole lives in the pages I write, but I know them, and they are no less real for only existing on paper. And people are people, in the end. We all have flaws, and hopes, and dreams, and despairs, no matter if we are living in the beginning of the twenty-first century in America on the planet Earth or if we are living in an Age called Afrili in the Realm of Ayan Teirod. In the end we are still human.

I write about humans living life. I write what I know.

Star Wars

So, in case I haven't already told you, my birthday is May 18, the day before Star Wars III comes out. My father and brother would like to take me to the Senator in Baltimore on the 19th, and I would like to bring many peoples with us to make it a special event. I will also be seeing it at Arundel Mills or elsewhere after- the Senator is flawed in not having stadium seating and I am short. This means normal humans sit in front of me and I can't see half of the screen.

BUT, if you can make it to the Thursday night thing (we will be going to the last showing), I would be very happy. If you can't, will you drop me a comment and tell me when is better for you? That will help me plan my second outing.

Thanks, everyone! Oh, and Wednesday the 18th we're doing karaoke at Michael's. Be there!

musing on illness, shame, and masks

Originally posted to my livejournal on August 20, 2004.


So tonight I don't feel well, and I know why. I haven't been sleeping well, I've been working nearly every day this week, and the strain is starting to get to me. It's so bad I'm seriously considering not leaving my house at all tomorrow. I'm not quite to the point of panicking about it, but I don't know what is going to happen when I try to step out the door, or even start to get ready. As an introvert I know I need alone recharging time, but that is just the beginning of what I am feeling now.

Tonight I have enough distance from what my body is feeling to try and analyze it, to think about things from a heightened perspective. Why should I fear going out? I will be seeing friends, family. People I should feel comfortable around. And I do, to an extent, but aside from Steve, there is really no one who gets to see the completely unmasked me. Even my parents don't- not because I don't feel comfortable showing it to them, but with things as they stand at home, I always try and put on a good face there and try to make everyone happy if possible. And when I go out with friends, there are so many others around, so many who expect something from me...or do they? Maybe I create those expectations, set them so high, and then try to meet them when no one else even cares. But I do know that if I go out tomorrow...if...when I go out tomorrow, I am going to do my hair. I am going to put on makeup. I am going to pay careful attention to what clothes I wear, what shoes, what jewelry. Skirt or pants? I will try on ten different items of each, and the same with tshirts, socks, shoes and maybe boots. Each variation will have different jewelry, necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings. The only constant will be my watch. Even my underwear might change if it's the wrong color or shows too much.

Mine is a carefully constructed mask. Of all the things about me that has changed since high school, or even since I left Etown, this is what has changed the most. I never used to be so concerned with my appearance. For a while, it was my weight that was the problem- I was ashamed of how I looked and did not want to draw attention to myself, so I wore drab clothing, hid behind faded jeans and baggy tshirts. I'm not entirely happy with my body now, but I am confident enough about it to dress myself in more flattering ways, wearing things that catch the eye. But I am still hiding behind my clothes. They still mask what I do not want seen, they just deflect in a different way. Instead of saying "don't look at me" I am saying, "look at me, but see only what I want you to." It is exhausting to live this way, and we all do it to a greater or lesser extent. Or perhaps that is my cynicism talking, assuming no one is exactly what they appear to be. But it is one of the base tenants of the overriding Western faith- that one's true self is something to be hidden. Adam and Eve gained self-awareness, knowledge of who and what they were, and they were ashamed. The first thing they do is hide themselves, clothe their physical bodies.

Maybe this is TMI, but Steve and I are hanging around our apartment naked, and it has me thinking about conceptions of propriety and shame. Steve said to me he would rather just be naked all of the time and not have to deal with clothes unless he was cold. But is that entirely true? Maybe for him it is. I know I am not physically comfortable being entirely naked all of the time, and I would never be able to just be naked around other people. I've gotten over my fear of disrobing at the gym, but it took me a while to do so, and I'm constantly thinking about it while I change my clothes. It is just my body (just?), but it is all I have to show to the world, my final layer before whatever it is that makes up my conscious self.

I was reading a book on my lunch break today about the concept of the Double in Germanic and Scandanavian myth and folklore, and the author spent much of the intro and first chapter talking about medieval visionary literature- cases where the soul left the body and traversed elsewhere, or where dreams were considered visions, or where spirits visited someone in a vision or dream. So now I am thinking a lot about mind and body, about the soul, if there is one. It is so hard to say for sure "there is no soul" when something like a soul, something more than just flesh, has been at the core of every belief system on the planet. I know that our fear of death is what spawns the desire for something of ourselves to continue on past our physical demise, but might it not be so? I want to think that it is, and yet...I will never be able to come down with complete certainty on either side of the argument. It frustrates me to have no concrete answer, but so much of my life is full of nebulous abstractions lately that I shouldn't be surprised.

I think the concept of shame and the mask is tied in with mental illness. Either one fears, is inable to use properly, or simply can or will not use their mask, cannot function on that level, and they are considered mad. People who use theirs exceptionally well- particularly those for whom the masks become separate identities, are also considered mad. So where is the middle ground? Most of my friends who read my journal do not self-identify as "mad" or insane, or crazy, or any of those other adjectives that can be used to describe mental illness. So how do you all do it? How do you maintain the balance between the things hidden and the things shown? Or do you just show everything and hope/force people to deal with it? There are things I understand well from being on the unbalanced side, but I want to know both sides. I want to tell the story of us all, and while that may be an unachievable goal, there is so much I have yet to learn.

But who knows what I will do tomorrow? Not I. Not I.

COMMENT from Greymaiden, aka Jamie, my best friend:

I show all. . .or almost all. Some things just don't come up. I panic sometimes, in moments of intense intimacy. That doesn't come up over coffee. I mean, the subject and the discussion might, but the actual feeling, the ME I am when I am like that. . .not there. I don't feel like I'm hiding it though.

I realized early on that it is better to live openly than with any kind of shame about who I am. It's what gives me so much of the motive power that I have, the power to do the impossible things that other people just can't do because they are using so much of their energy to restrict themselves. There are people who don't like me (though suprisingly few). There are people who are frightened and intimidated by me (annoyingly many). There are people who think I'm awesome. There are people who worship the ground I walk on in a scary stalker like way.

Whatever. I am who I am. I like it better that way. I've recently begun experimenting with clothes and trying to be more stylish. (though I'm not very good at it) I don't think of it as trying to hide something, just expanding my presentations of myself. It's fun too.

I think what you're doing with your clothes and such is fun, and I do think you do it because it is fun, not just because you are insecure about presenting yourself. You don't have to walk around in a sack to prove to yourself that you're secure with who you are. This is what you do. . .it's what you studied to do. You manipulate the human body and other's perceptions of it with clothing. It's a handy talent to have, and though somewhat dishonest, the dishonesty hurts no one and pleases many. Plus, sometimes your clothes can reflect what you feel. Mine usually do. . .color, style, dark and gothy or cute and playful? Your clothes, contrary to hiding things about you, can also tell people things about you.

I fall back on what I always say. Nothing is fake. You can't possibly be anything that you are not. There is no such thing as that mask. You can only hide those things that you are. . .and you know what those are. The revelation of them can be hard, but there is a way.

I've found LJ to be the best of tools for full disclosure. Here my parents found out I was into BDSM. Here my friends learn that I am a caring compassionate person with a soul, who cries, a lot. Here my fear of abandonment lies open. I'm fortunate in that most people in my life read this journal. If that's not the case with you, write letters to the people who matter to you and spill your soul. It seems silly and ridiculous but once it's done it's done, and you've opened.

As for the insanity, I often have problems with the integrity of my personality. I am so open, and I am constantly adding to myself from the experiences of others, that I feel so expansive that I can hardly keep a boundary on who I am. I become a nexus of people, instead of a self contained individual. Then again, that is also my talent. . .double edged blades and all that.

And lots of people consider me mad until they know me better.

But Anis Nin said: "Everything but happiness is neurosis."

So remember that too.

REPLY BY MYSELF:

I'm not trying to argue that my mask is "fake," just that it isn't all that I am. It's what I choose to be, or present of myself, at any given moment. Sometimes, though, I present the opposite of what I am feeling inside- like when I have to smile and be nice to customers all day when what I want to do is scream and beat them about the head for being stupid. So while the smile is still part of me, in that moment it is a falseness, and eventually I am worn down and tired out by putting up that front.

In the same way, I know that my clothes tell people things about me, and that is the point. I am consciously manipulating what people see and think about me every time I get dressed. Yes, it's true that I will not wear clothes that I consider ugly or "not me," but within the range of clothes I do like are many different variations on the theme of "me." And they don't always reflect how I feel, either. Sometimes, or perhaps most of the time, they reflect the opposite. When I wear my dog collar choker, bondage pants and combat boots is often when I'm feeling most vulnerable and weak. So it's still a front, still an illusion, still just what I want people to see.

And that's why it's so nice to just be alone with Steve and drop all of it, and just be for a while without thinking about how I'm presenting myself. And it's why sometimes, often, I end up staying home instead of going out. I get too tired, too afraid of the drain, and I hold myself away from social situations.

It's my own little watered down version of social anxiety.

a bit of random for the masses

Although I've meant for this blog to be about creative input and output, I haven't been very good about either lately.

I did design an interesting set of standing stones for one of my novels. Instead of the usual concentric rings, I devised a set of circles and ellipses that manages to look way cooler. Despite what the Greeks and early Western philosophers/scientists wanted to believe, nature doesn't favor a perfect sphere- it favors the ellipse, or, as they knew over in the East for ages, an egg shape (even good ol' Earth has a bulge around her middle). So the idea of forced perfection mingling with a more natural and organic shape appealed to me.

The rough design is on my laptop- I'll upload it the next time the laptop gets online.

I have been very bad otherwise. I'm not sure why my writing has gone suddenly stagnant. Perhaps I am tired, or stressed (definitely stressed!), or just making excuses for laziness. I haven't been challenging myself with my reading, either. I've been reading light-hearted chick lit when I could be doing mythological research or reading any number of good books about history, sociology, etc.

I suppose I am just lazy. I need to go back to school so someone will put a book in my hand and say, "read this by tomorrow and write a ten page paper on it or else you fail." I'm really good at working under pressure like that.

The Evils of Television

I've been completely television free for over six months. Before that, I had cable television for about a year, but rarely used it as I was a crazy dual degree theatre student and didn't have the time to waste keeping up with a weekly show. When I did turn the damn thing on, I tended to watch movies or Discovery Channel specials rather than episodic programming, and I was almost always doing something else (like homework) at the same time. So over the last 18 mos, for all intents and purposes I haven't been watching tv.

After being home with my parents for two days, I've spent a total of almost 10 hours watching television. While part of that was watching The Dirty Dozen and another was watching When Harry Met Sally, still, I swear that damn thing is addictive. What is it about the television that draws one's attention? Other than the obvious: noise, light, and bright colors. I mean, shouldn't one of my two higher levels of consciousness be able to put its foot down and say, "ok, we know it's bright and shiny, but that doesn't make it worth watching!"

It doesn't help that everyone in my family is hopelessly addicted. My mother leaves the tv on when she goes to sleep at night. She says she does it to drown out the sound of my dad's machine (he wears a mask that keeps air blowing into his nose all night to combat his sleep apnia), but it would drive me crazy to have it on all night. My brother does the same thing, although not usually on purpose. He just falls asleep and wakes up with it still on.

I know I have my own addictions- the internet, for one, but I have spent days/weeks away from the computer and been just fine without it. The cable went out here for a week once and they almost killed each other. If my brother didn't have a backlog of television series on DVD to watch, he probably would have gone over the edge and murdered my parents.

It's absolute craziness, and the worse part came when I was sitting with my parents watching Friday night shows. I caught myself thinking, "that looks like an interesting show, too bad I'll have to miss it," and briefly considered purchasing cable tv again. I think I'm over it now, but that was a scary moment. Besides, I have too many movies to watch and video games to play and books to read (and write!) to waste my time with that stuff. If it's really worth watching I'll wait for it to come out on DVD and my brother will lend it to me. Then I'll get to see special features and not be inundated with commercials.

Because, as well all know, no matter how awful the quality of the programming, the commercials are far, far worse.

Watch out, that's my head you're bashing!

I've come home to box up stuff from my old room in my parents' house, but like most times I visit, I have ended up sitting in the cold front room on my parents' computer wasting time on the internet. It's a good thing I got Sunday off- I always spend my first day here doing nothing.

So, I'm going to take this time to spew a little. Today's topic is how much I hate it when writers forget that they are telling a story and start shoving some philosophical or religious dogma down my throat. There is a fine line between writing a story that means something and writing a parable. When the story becomes merely the peripheral trappings for an author's belief structure, I cannot suspend my disbelief and invest myself in the characters and their struggle. The intent of writers like these is to sucker me into believing in their doctrine by writing a story that shows how perfect and right their beliefs are. Ironically, I instead disconnect from the story and feel only scorn for their underhanded tactics.

The most recent author I've come across who does this is Terry Goodkind. He is an objectivist (following in the footsteps of Ayn Rand), and writes a fantasy series called the Sword of Truth. I actually enjoyed the first few books, because although I could see the elements of objectivism he was weaving into the story and his characters, he managed to keep everything balanced. On the surface it was a story about a young man discovering his past and taking on the responsibilities he has inherited, but it was also about the strength and dignity of the individual, the benefits of equality in relationships, and loyalty. It was a commentary on how a society can become undermined by believing itself responsible for the welfare of the rest of the world. (This is a complicated issue, and my own beliefs differ slightly from the objectivists on this one)

But that was just in the first three or four books. A little in Soul of the Fire, but certainly by Faith of the Fallen, his characters became flat and uninteresting, the story cyclic and overdone. He began proselytizing, first using the dialogue of the characters, then the internal monologues, and finally the voice of the third person narrator. I never finished Naked Empire, and have no plans to read Chainfire, or any other book in the series. Somewhere along the line he forgot one of the most important creative writing adages- "show, don't tell."

This is actually something I worry about when I write my own stories. I want them to mean something; I want them to make a statement about life and mankind's journey and what it means to be human. But at the same time I don't want to alienate people by becoming preachy or overbearing. I want to show them what I think, not bash them about the head with it. For this reason I always ask people I trust to read my stories before I've finished doing revisions. I know, for example, that my best friend will not pull her punches in telling me what she thinks. I just created a community over at livejournal for artists and writers to get honest critiques, and I'm hoping that will be another forum for me to get the occasional slap in the face when I become overbearing in my work.

That's all for now. This room is freezing and I can hardly feel my fingers and toes. Off to read some more of The Fabulous Riverboat.

Post Alpha

As if you couldn't tell by the lack of posts before this one, this is my first entry into the world of blogspot. I'm here because everyone at work uses blogspot. I have about 4 years worth of entries over at livejournal, and about 4 entries total at myspace, but here I am ready to start a new journal.

I'm primarily going to use this to talk about the stuff I'm reading/listening to/watching, and what I'm writing: prose, poetry, and music. Also to talk about my clothing designs. Maybe I'll post a little about my life, too, but I think I'll keep that to livejournal.

Snapshot of my current input:
Reading the Riverworld books by Philip Jose Farmer.
Listening to Andrea "Nebel" Haugen, Kirsten Blodig, and other misc Scandanavian/Northern European folk music.
Just watched Labyrinth again after years away from it.

Snapshot of my current output:
Continued with chapter 5 of my NaNoWriMo novel, still haven't gotten to chapter 6.
Wrote another segment in my awful romance novel that I cringe when I think will probably be my first professional sale.
Did some serious thinking and wrote up a new premise for my "mother of god" story.
Drew up a new dress design, using geisha neckline and handkerchief-hem boxpleats. (I'll upload the sketch at some point).

And that's it for this first post. Yay and all that. When I have some time I'll sit down and do some editing to the style/layout/color scheme over here, since this one is kinda boring as is.