Belief and the Mental G-Spot

You know that old saying about how nothing good ever comes easy? Well, sometimes it's true, sometimes it's bullshit.

Writing for me is unlike anything else in the world. It's addictive. It's cathartic. It's purifying (well, as purifying as it can be with me). It's maddening and terrifying and there are times when I work over a spot where it's better than...

Well, I'll put it like this; think of when that moment came when you knew you were going to lose your virginity. You mentally passed that point where you thought "damn, this might actually happen. I might get me some." That split second after - where your thoughts change to "holy-shit-son-of-a-bitch-oh-fucking-christ-my-god, I'm GONNA get me some." You know it's going to happen. There's no longer any doubt.

That split second. That moment. That's what it feels like when all the pieces of a story are fitting together. That mental sigh. You don't know what's going to happen next will actually BE like, nor do you know if you'll end up looking like a bumbling idiot or a god, but that doesn't matter because the doubt's gone. There's a world of possibilities waiting for you.

And that's what I feel like now. I've got the first complete draft of a story I've been working on for quite a while now. Right now it's coming in at around 5k words, but I'm fairly sure that after revisions it should come in somewhere around 6k words. And after I saved the file and sat back in my chair, I felt like I'd just had marathon sex.

I finished the story yesterday and then last night watched the Boston Red Sox end an 86 year drought. I saw someone in the crowd waving a photo collage with the word "believe" written at the top and it stuck with me.

Believe.

It's one of the most important things in life. Belief is both a powerful and terrifying thing. Belief can turn fairytales into religions and religions into justification for terrorism. Belief can destroy entire countries. Or rebuild them. Want to know why so many BoSox fans never broke their loyalty after 86 years?

Belief.

Belief that they could rise up and win. That's it. Nothing more. Just a mental state of being. Some may say that a lot of times I'm a pessimist and I would argue that. I'm not a pessimist. Fact is, most of the time I'm a realist just trying to separate the wheat from the chaff so I can recognize the bullshit of the situation. But I also have the ability to believe. Oh, sure it'll cause me some heartache sometimes when things don't work out how I'd like, but shit, that's nothing I haven't felt before.

I've taken jobs. Accepted projects where I had not the faintest idea, the slightest fucking CLUE how I was going to do the work. But I believed I would figure it out.

Know what pisses me off? Someone saying they can't do something because they don't know how. Don't get me wrong. There are exceptions. Should I be in an emergency situation and have the need for my legs to be sewn back on, I'll accept your excuse if you've never sewn limbs back on previously. Okay. Fine. But in your normal, everyday shit, if I hear that you can't do it because you don't know how... oh... my kidneys start red-lining and my piss gets hot over just hearing the words.

Just fall back and punt. Take some time and figure out what it is you really want. Then think of the course of action to get you there. So what if you're in unfamiliar territory? It's too tough to do? You're uncomfortable? Yeah, okay. By the way, the gynecologist called, he wants his pussy back. Stop being a pussy, shut up and get your ass back in the game. Go after what you want, and don't stop for anything until you get it. If it's too easy for you to throw in the towel - what you thought was important, wasn't.

Make it up as you go along and have some fun while you're doing it. It'll come to you. It'll work out. It'll get done.

All you have to do is believe.

Command Z

Ever try to unfuck something?

I'm working on a story right now - one that I think will be a classic of mine if I can unfuck it. See, the character in this took over. She took over. She took the fuck over. But in doing so, she boxed herself into a corner. And now, it's up to me to... unfuck it.

And sometimes it's as difficult as... okay.. here's an example. You've just made yourself a bowl of instant oatmeal. Cinnamon Raisin, baby, and the steam is rolling out of the bowl, making your kitchen smell just like gramma's used to when you were a kid.

Change of plans, put the instant oatmeal back in the bag.

Uh huh. Try to unfuck that. THAT'S what this feels like.

But when the solution, the "eureka" idea comes through... damn that feels great.

How great?

Hopefully, I'll tell you soon.

Among the Dead

There are corpses around me from where I sit, their black and crunchy skin glistening like wet coal.

I hate crickets. Those little fuckers chirp their high-pitched Michael Jackson on helium chirps trying to attract a mate and in the process, it's like a leprechaun icepick plunging into the center of my brain every time. For the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to winter so the cold will stiffen their little prickly limbs up and kill them off.

But I digress.

Lots of stuff going on lately - the Mayor of Grumpyville is continuing to campaign for all he's worth. I've got a screenplay off to another competition and am waiting for an answer on the Undead Anthology where I've submitted "Pleasing Marlena."

"Bloodlines" has been accepted at New Camp Horror.
My first sale, "Of All Evil" was to www.shortestories.com - which apparently, has folded, and so I am pushing that short elsewhere.

The projects I'm actively working on are thus:

Short Stories:
Free Ride Angie (this character just wouldn't shut up, so I decided to sit down and listen - it was well worth it and I just need to figure out how to retell her tale)
The Dream Phoenix (this started as a very short children's book, but is expanding nicely)
Happy the Man (working title for now, horror screenplay)

The projects I've set aside are too numerous to mention, but I had to focus on a maximum of three projects at one time or I was going to go more insane than I already am.


Most men live lives of quiet desperation.
- Henry David Thoreau