I haven’t blogged in awhile. Mostly because I’ve been feeling ehhh and ughhh and not much has been happening, and I have no amazing insights to share. I sort of feel like I’m running in molasses without even being sure what direction I want to head in. Other than the novel I’m writing…that’s going very well, and it feels very different from any other long pieces of fiction that I’ve written. I’m hoping that I have someone to read it after I’m done, a friend who will volunteer.
It’s weird. I read about all these writers, and how they have such good support groups while they write, friends wanting to read their stuff and so on. I don’t have that at all. Well, a little. My mother read my first novel, the first incarnation, which sucked and has been deleted in its entirety. She hasn’t read anything else, and I stopped asking her. She’s too busy caught up in my sister’s life, which, admittingly, is both good and bad for me. Oh well. My friend Jordan read my non-fantasy novel, which pleased me greatly, but she’s not too into reading or writing, so she doesn’t give the best feedback. Even so, I’m extremely grateful. Then there’s my friend John, who is a writer I very much respect, and who I workshopped and brainstormed with at UConn. He’s a sci-fi junkie like me, and while we have opposing views on many things, he’s always great for a discussion and feedback. We’re both also brutally honest; that’s what I prefer. There’s also another friend, who insists she’s this blog’s number one fan (still, I don’t know), and has read some of my short stories, and I’m hoping we’ll get on good terms again and she’ll continue to read more of my stuff.
It’s hard to put into words what it means to me when someone reads my writing. Even if they don’t like it, that they read it means everything to me, that they took time out of their day to read my writing, when I’m still a no one, a hack if you will, just some guy, like so many others, writing his heart out, sacrificing so much of his free time, and his life, for writing. Sad but true. It really is the best compliment I can receive—when someone says they enjoy my writing, or they actually hear a voice behind the words, that my writing even has a voice. My friend—mentioned above—awarded me the best compliment of my life; it stunned me. Thank you so much. Despite my support group being so minute, just John right now, I think, and maybe another or so, it’s extremely important to me. Rejection after rejection can really get you down after awhile, but I take it in stride. Rejection is part of life: all facets, not just writing.
I finished Slapstick by Vonnegut today. It was good. Not his best, but good, and since I don’t currently own the two other books I want to read, I started The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams. It’s apparently a fantasy classic—a very good series. Hopefully.
It begin with a fantastic author’s note, so good I immediately thought to blog it. Here it is.
“I have undertaken a labor, a labor out of love for the world and to comfort noble hearts: those that I hold dear, and the world to which my heart goes out. Not the common world do I mean, of those who (as I have heard) cannot bear grief and desire but to bathe in bliss. (May Gold then let them dwell in bliss!) Their world and manner of life my tale does not regard: its life and mine lie apart. Another world do I hold in mind, which bears together in one heart its bitter sweetness and its dear grief, its heart’s delight and its pain of longing, dear life and sorrowful death, dear death and sorrowful life. In this world let me have my world, to be damned with it, or to be saved.”
--- Gottried Von Strassburg
(author of Tristan and Isolt)
Such an amazing quote which pretty much sums up my train of thought when it comes to writing and escapism. On another note, I really should read Tristan and Isolt. I loved the movie despite how horribly sad it was. I remember, my girlfriend at the time couldn’t stop crying.
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