auralmemories: writing

Most people have known what they what to be when they grow up for a very long time. Whether or not you actually made this dream a reality is up to each of us to decide; we may have gotten to our goal and became a veterinarian or rock star; some of us are still struggling to make that dream come true. Some folks just dream forever and never try; my dream of what I wanted to be when I grew up is something I've tinkered with my entire life. As longtime readers of my blog can affirm; I've always wanted to be a writer. I have never written anything that I have been paid for, save the poetry contest I won my sophomore year in high school where I wrote a long narrative style poem in the style of Oscar Wilde's Ballad of Reading Gaol, of which I had I recently discovered and devoured, about an Irish immigrant – a woman who left her lover and was a stowaway on a liner bound for America... I got $25. Other than that; it's all journals, notebooks, blogs and unsent (and some sent, yet copies kept) love letters. I finished my first novel when I was in 8th grade... total crap, I promise you. I wrote it on my first word processor, a Brother WP-3400. It's premise was what you would expect from someone like me at that age; a kid in love with someone who didn't know I exist and suddenly we meet through some outrageous twist of fate and fall in love – BUT IT WAS A DREAM THE WHOLE TIME!

….jaysus. I, honest to god, begged my dad to make me 8 copies of that shitstack and I literally sent it out to publishers, whose addresses I found by begging my mom a ride to the local library and actually using reference books to “how to publish a book.”

...when I think about how hard you had to hustle pre-internet to get anything done, I am overwhelmed with how unlikely this dream all seems. You kids got it too easy these days, man!

So I keep on blogging... after the “teenage dream” novel, I set out on my next novel that I started my freshman year of high school; an ambitious effort! I actually did heavy research for this one; spent every weekend for months in the library getting my facts straight – it was set in Northern Ireland during the heavy bombing campaigns by the IRA in the 1980s... I'd just discovered U2, you see, and my social consciousness curtain was ripped wide open. A little more than ¾ into that novel I signed myself up and saved allowance to pay for a creative writing workshop held not far from my high school... I was the youngest in the class by a good 5 years... it was helpful and an excellent resource but a total mindfuck... sometimes someone teaches or tells you something that opens your mind's eye so wide you can never shut it again; the woman who lead the workshop read an excerpt from my novel in process and she said it was more or less good, I cant remember any kind of praise because what she said next changed my writing abilities forever... “It's good but not believable, you can only write what you know and the reader can always tell”... so basically, if I wanted to write about a story set in Belfast, Northern Ireland, how could I expect success if I've never been there? This information settled like a ton of bricks in my understanding of the universe and my abilities to process it... If I wanted to write about true love, how could I if I had never experienced it? If I wanted to write about different cultures and continents, how could I without traveling the world? If I wanted to tell my story, how could I until I felt and understood myself completely?

What transpired after that conversation was a relentless, exhaustive, yet still ongoing quest to see, feel, hear, experience, taste, love and live EVERYTHING so I could write about it. I started making travel plans that very afternoon. This little bit of information may help any of those still trying to decipher my intensity, self-absorption, and main directive in life. I can't settle down, I can't marry, I can't buy a home or stay in one place too long... not until I am satisfied that I can finally “write what I know.”

I have had epiphanies. I have had moments of such divine clarity that I have been rendered speechless for days. I have had dreadful realizations about human existence that sent me into blackout drunks spanning over weeks at a time. I have walked away from opportunities and people that were “too easy” because without plot advancement, there was no narrative. I have inadvertently placed myself in treacherous situations in a subconscious effort for a good story. I have taken chances most people interested in retaining their health, sanity, or assets would never consider. All of this in the name of my dream.

Earlier last year I was laid off from a job of 9 years that I didn't know I loved until it was gone; much like much everything in my life I can only truly love in hindsight... after the world opened all it's doors and windows wide to me, I became overwhelmed... Another job? School? Move away? Travel? ...Travel! So after a month or two of floundering and tossing ideas into the universe I finally took the one big chance I never dared myself to take; give away almost all my possessions and run away.

I can't tell you for sure the moment I knew I wanted to come home; it honestly depends on the moment you ask me... homesickness? My ex? Exhaustion? My health? But in true-me fashion, the decision to return was made just as suddenly as the one to leave. And now I have found myself floundering once again, unable to commit to one single idea or situation; save this one... In the first few nights I was all alone in that jungle I faced my own kind of magic-mirror gate and I sat down and I started to write. All of those years of saving up stories and living these tragedies and victories began to spill out of me and it hasn't stopped since.

I offer this to you now, my sparse and loyal blogfolk, as a brief-as-i-can-get explanation of the lack of updates that you have seen since I've been back; I am writing. For me. Not blogs, not journal, not love letters I'll never send, not letters I'll send and BCC myself on to use as reference for the future.... none of that. I am finally telling my story. I have you, those who encouraged, inspired, contributed and supported me in these past few years to thank for that.

In the mean time, I will try my best to write and update as inspiration strikes but you may also feel free to follow me on twitter, as I use the blog's account to live tweet as many shows as I attend, which is honestly as many as it's ever been. There will be many more. The story isn't over yet, but for the first time in my life the term “open ended” doesn't scare the shit out of me.

Here are some things that have happened since my last post (in no particular order,) in case you haven't been peeping my twitter: