Goodness me, it’s been a while since I’ve written. I’d like to say it’s because I’ve been busy doing a number of exciting and wonderful things, or that I’ve started a new job and have been so tired that the thought of writing has vexed me, but really, it’s a combination of laziness and not knowing what to write. Correction: I know what to write, I just don’t know how to write it, which is an odd confession coming from me. Writing is like Jell-O–there’s always room for both.
I’ve tried to read more books lately and made a goal of reading a book a week during the year as I’ve noticed over the last several, my book reading has taken a tragic decline. I blame this on a few things. The first being Dave Eggers. I read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius two years ago and it is one of the best things I’ve ever read and I’m in love with Eggers’ prose and the way he manipulates the words on the page and I also hate Eggers because now, I find it difficult to start reading a book because it isn’t Dave. I also blame social media. Being unemployed still and alone most of my day, which is great to an extent, but I need some sort of social interaction on a daily basis, despite my introversion. Facebook helps fulfill that need. So while I’m busy writing quip-y status posts and sharing photos and memes, I’m neglecting my reading and writing time.
It’s been said you can’t be a good writer unless you read and this is true. By filling your brain with others words, you end up honing your own writing skills. Or at least that’s my take on it and I’m smart, so I’m going to stick to that. But I also think you tend to take on the personality of the author to whom you’re reading. For example, I like to think that all the years during my adolescence that I spent reading Stephen King novels, I have his voice in my prose. He isn’t serious in his writing in the way that he’s verbose and uses big, fancy words; he’s simple but yet concise in what he’s writing. His imagery is fantastic and I always transport myself into his world. I loved reading The Talisman just for that reason. It’s a great novel as well as so crazy good in describing what’s going on. I love that. I also love that I have a solid enough imagination that I can easily transport myself into the worlds being created for me. That’s the sign of a truly amazing writer, as well.
Right now, I’m reading Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk and I also envy his writing. He’s crass and crude and a helluva fine writer. My favorite line of the book so far is “…she was wearing a shade of lipstick you’d expect to see at the base of a penis.” Rude? Kind of. But goddamn it, is it brilliant. It’s one of those lines I wish I had written. And I’m happy to report that by reading ol’ Chuck, the writer side of my brain is starting to turn over and chug to life once again. I’m getting ideas for short stories. Plans are coming together. I want to dabble in more…fictitious short stories…? That sounds silly, but let me explain. I’ve always considered my writings “non-fiction fiction,” meaning a good chunk of what I write about is based on life, I just gussy it up or change details or treat the event like it really was a work of fiction and not an actual thing that happened to me. I want to give a go at more fictionalized stories and this sounds odd, but more eccentric shorts, as well. I also want to give romance a try. Not corset peelers or any of the mindless schlock Danielle Steele poops out, but think of writing along the lines of Perks of Being A Wallflower-type prose. “We accept the love we think we deserve” sort of lines, something more heart-on-sleeve-ish. I attribute reading a lot of this fellow Tyler Knott Gregson on Pinterest (shush it). He’s a poet and he does this thing called “Typewriter Series” which is his work written out in old typeface and it’s gorgeous stuff. Take a look for yourself.
The hopeless romantic in me is just swooning now. Typewriters and words like this? Oh my gosh. Melting. I think I can come up with something like this myself, or I really, really, really want to try. Writing like this is a guilty pleasure of mine. I’m not always all Bret Easton Ellis slasher/sexual depravity prone. I like stuff like this from time to time. Gross, E.
I just have a niggling doubt in my head, though, that if I attempt this sort of prose, it’ll come off as sounding seriously contrived and like I’m trying far too hard, or that I’ll come off as some sort of creeper, as you really can’t generate this sort of material without an inspiration. I have it, I’m just nervous my words will do more harm than good, I guess. It’s happened before, and I’d like to avoid that from happening again.
That’s all from me for now. I wanted to take a quick breather from reading to write a little posty post and, I confess, I know this is my 200th post and it was annoying me I hadn’t written anything, so I figured I’d write a puff piece to get me to it. I’m terrible!
As usual, thanks for reading.