I’ve never admitted how badly I was bullied in school or what really went on and I’ve never talked about how screwed up I became as a result of it all. So here it is, the darker side of why I write…also…advance apologies if this isn’t the best writing. I have only lightly edited it as if I look at it too long, I’ll end up never sharing it. It is somewhere between why I write and general blogging…my life and my writing are 100% intertwined with each other.

(Why Do I Write – Part One)

What mattered then, what matters now?

A lot of what I write is connected to matters I’m deeply connected with in life. I guess because I started writing to escape the world, and to create a world where I had friends (I know, so sad.), what matters hasn’t changed that much:

• Social alienation
• Social stigmatism
• Invisible illness
• Fitting in, having friends
• Living life to the full and doing everything 
• Falling in love/knowing what love is

There was a whole lot of darkness in my mind growing up…and still is…and I’ve always loved pushing my characters into really dark situations, messing with their sanity and generally being a cruel master to them. Some of that is dealing with my own crap I know, but then, why not use what I’ve got stashed away? I hope one day I get to writing some positivity, like how it feels to fall in love and all that vomit inducing crap I was spurning in part one of this post.

I want people to see characters that can be forced to the deepest depths of hell and torment and find a way out. I want people to find characters that still find a will to live in a world that rejects them. And if I can pull it off, I want readers to know how much it fucking hurts to suffer at the hands of humanity. I think that’s why Elfen Lied is such a favourite of mine, even though it’s technically every genre I hate. The story speaks to me on so many personal levels and I can relate to Lucy/Nyu more so than any other character. The revelation of her story is masterfully done, as is the comparison of natures between Lucy and other characters who are exposed to similar fates.

It’s also why stories such as The Otori Tales, The Old Kingdom, Sword Art Online and Blue Exorcist have always been favourites of mine through all of time; and bands such as Evanescence and Within Temptation, and OSTs such as Bleach by Sagisu Shiro are always music I go back to. They all share similar concepts and emotions that mean so much to me. I always go back to them when I’m getting back into writing because they connect my past and my present and remind me of everything.

Music keeps my memories safe and preserved, helps me wake up/go to sleep and integrate with the world, and is a part of every moment of my life. I literally start to go insane if I go too long without music. Because of how intertwined with my life and my thought processes music is, it’s also an integral part of my creativity and writing/editing. Pretty much every song has a memory or emotion attached to it from when I first heard it, so if I want to go to a certain point in my life and remember something, that song goes on.

How do I deal with writer’s block?

There’s no real hard and fast answer to this, and I’m not sure many writers dealing with the total writer’s block/writer apathy have an answer for this. The main thing I do is switch off from other writers. The last thing I need to see when I’m in the doldrums is a horde of creative people telling me that I’m not a writer if I’m not writing every day, or that there’s no such thing as writer’s block.

I’ll also do something else. During the summer – if in Wales, it stops blowing a gale and raining for longer than 2 days – I’ll get out in the garden. That’s a double bonus as I find caring and nurturing plants is good for procrastination and for caring for personal mental health. Likewise, going ham on unruly weeds is good for stress management.

Travel used to be a fantastic way of getting over some block in my writing. Hell, I’d say this is the *absolute* best method for me. Sadly it’s also an unavailable option due to atrocious health, raging anxiety and total lack of funds. Also, I drive now, so I don’t ever get to enjoy being a passenger in the back seat.

Between mid-October and late April, I’m cooped up indoors (because cold, wet, and utterly awful outside…) so I tend to default to gaming as a way to cope/deal with writer’s block. There’s nothing better than being in an open world RPG/MMORPG to help counter the growing sense of frustration when words won’t flow. It’s also the most likely way of me coming across an idea that sparks an idea off, or suddenly makes something in my plot make sense since I don’t go outside. The downside is starting off a new RPG. I’ve given Fallout 76 way too much of my time since I picked it up after Christmas.

Something I picked up at the end of last years is the Writer’s Block book by Jason Rekulak which is a beautiful little cube of 786 ideas and prompts for writing. I’ve done a couple so far and do find it a really good way to challenge myself and my writing style – I did one recently that ended up in first person narrative and present tense which was interesting. (Check out Writer’s Block posts here.)

I do find journaling sometimes helps, though it can also hinder if I get into things too deep, so I tend to leave a lot of journaling for utter off periods when I have nothing to lose. Like writing fiction, there’s so little in my life that there isn’t even any point in keeping a journal.

Why I’m struggling to write now?

Two major core processes that kept me running: dreaming and writing. I can dream without writing, but I can’t write without dreaming; though I realise that may not make sense and I will probably do a separate post about dreaming and writing at another time as it may get lengthy.

As a child, I’d be sitting in the back of my parents’ car and stare out of the window as the landscape rolled by. Stories would ignite from the littlest spark – the way the sun glinted through trees, the lighting of the sky or seeing woodland on a hill. The music my parents listened to would set the pace of the story and within minutes of leaving our home town, there’d be some story or other taking control of my imagination. I don’t remember most of those idle daydreams, but daydreaming while travelling was something I kept up as long as I could. 

Now I drive and never get to be an antisocial passenger, I’ve completely lost this ability. I’ll glance amazing views around me and wonder what secrets they keep. And that’s it. The wilderness around me keeps her stories secret. Also, if I’m in the car with someone else, no matter how much I repeat “do you mind if I zone out for a bit?”; whoever I’m with will simply keep talking at me.

My main battle is that my health has forced me pretty much into total isolation in a tiny village in Wales that is best known for its absence of life and pretty much anything. (I mean, there’s a university, but in 3 years living here and even using the Starbucks on campus, I’ve seen like…8 students? Not even joking, I took my dad once and even he couldn’t believe how unpopulated it was.) So no new and fresh ideas here.

I hit this current block in August as things reached a whole new level of worse coupled with losing two good friends purely because my health was a problem to them. One, who has also been through mental health battles of their own even told me I freaked them out. Wonderful. Who needs enemies right? Suddenly any and all social interaction was null, my association with the world was gone and I completely ran out of ideas to use up. As it is, The Sirin Chronicles is largely based on concepts of social alienation and invisible illnesses, so it isn’t even like I could utilise this new situation to feed my work.

Also, every time I hit a setback and/or flare-up with my health, it takes me 2-3 months to recover. 2 months where I’m entirely unable to write or create, and another 2 months where I’ve been dragged out of my work and become totally disconnected from everything. By the time I’m getting myself back together again and about to dive into my writing, it’s time to repeat it all. Each time I get disconnected from my work, it becomes 100% more difficult to reconnect to it. The battle against brain fog (part of ME/CFS) is real too.
Describing real life things is hard some days.
Describing my fictional creations becomes impossible!

Where do I go from here?

I guess for now I still need to do some more soul searching and reminiscing of the past to find out what is lacking from my WIPs now… and trying to find the place I was in so I can start moving forward with my work again. And also pray for a miracle. I know something needs to change in my life, and no matter what I do, I always run into a locked door… though I’ll keep looking for one that opens for me. And keep writing, even if it’s just one word at a time.

I’ll also keep wishing that the fates will allow me a life before I’m old and decrepit.

Original article: Why Do I Write? (Pt2).

♡

When you look at me, what is it you see?
Would you ever think there’s two sides to me?
Beneath the surface sleeps a cruel beast
One never seen by the fast paced living
It comes in the silence when I am alone
It brings with it a pain you’ll never know
Abandoning me, crippled invisibly
Leaving me tormented … I can’t prove it.

Words I commonly hear aimed towards me,
“She looks completely fine, just ignore her.”
“Just man up, get over it, you’ll be fine.”
“There is nothing wrong, you’re making it up.”
And trust me when I say you’ve no idea
How it feels to have your whole life snuffed out
And have all of your dreams taken away
So all that is left is crushing despair

There was a time I could do anything
I could run a mile and walk forever
If somebody told me ‘you can’t do it’
Then I would make damned sure I’d prove them wrong
That was then, and now it’s so different
When I wake, it’s in wretched agony
All of my bones feel broken and shattered
Everything just hurts and aches so much

My skin feels bruised and my head is pounding
I want to move, I can’t, so I must wait
Until the paralysis of pain finally ebbs
I don’t know now, is it morning or ‘noon?
Impossible to stand, too raw to sit
I feel like a puppet with broken strings
Or at the mercy of cruel puppeteers
Still, I remain in this silent limbo

This is the least of who I really am
A condition born from the suffering
And cruelty of human ignorance
That I’ve endured and which feeds the beast
Did I mention there’s the sickening fear?
The anxiety or the the depression
The life I’ve lost, the friends that left with it
All gifts of isolation the demon brings

And when the day finally fades to night
I think once again of falling asleep
It’s ironic, I’m so exhausted
I try to sleep, insomnia kicks in
I’ll spend all of the darkest witching hours
Trying to sleep as I wanted all day
To escape at last from pain and torment
Knowing that tomorrow will be the same

People ask how I am, I wonder why
It is not that they care for me at all
It is not answers that they want to hear
I’d open up … conversation’s moved on
All my pain, all my words, silenced again
Yet here I am, broken and exhausted
Trapped in a war with my own existence
A never-ending fight you’ll never know

But I won’t ever let you see my tears
It is not what you want to see of me
It’s not what you want to hear either
So I’ll pour myself another cup of coffee
I’ll do my hair and put my makeup on
And I’ll continue saying that I’m okay
This facade has long since been my armour
There’s two sides of me, only one you see

Original article: Two Sides of ME.