Self-Torture, But Not In The Traditional Sense

Why? (Written November 8, 2013)

Somebody tell me why I’m up late at night,
Why I get angry, why I will fight,
Tell me, please, someone what’s wrong with my mind,
What answers I’m seeking but never will find.
Somebody tell me what I’m meant to say
When I’m angry, and sad, and annoyed at the day,
Somebody, anybody, answer my plight,
Tell me I beg you, why must I write?

__On a happier note__

A story written, a story read,
A story that’s told right before bed,
A song that is sung with a loving voice,
A song that is louder than every noise,
A scene you can watch again and again
And not get tired of, even then,
These are the treasure I seek to find,
And one day, myself, then leave behind.


*sigh* So, an interesting thought occurred to me at around 3AM this morning. Really, I should say that this thought reoccurred, because I have had it before. Have you ever eaten a huge serving of extremely hot buffalo wings, even though you are just about crying because they are so spicy, and you know that you are gonna have killer heartburn for the next week, but you keep eating because they are just sooo yummy? (This is experience talking, by the way. I have done this before. I regretted it later, but I really did enjoy those buffalo wings.) Well, sometimes, that is how I feel about reading a good story.

Now you are thinking I am insane, right? How could killing yourself eating delicious, albeit far to spicy, buffalo wings be anything like reading a story? Well, maybe if you have ever suffered from insomnia or really bad nightmares you might get where this is coming from. I love reading. I love finding stories, conveyed in whatever medium suits that story best. Movies, books, poems, songs- they can all tell a story. That is what I love looking for. I think about all the different stories I find all the time. Coincidentally, thinking all the time can keep you up at night. That is nothing new. It can also bring on some fun nightmares, depending on what you are thinking about. Again, nothing very surprising there. (Which is why it can be a bit maddening to be so addicted to stories, at times.) But that isn’t all of it.

For me, at least, and I suspect it is the same for others, looking for a good story never ends with just looking for a story somebody else wrote. Sooner or later you end up thinking, “Hey, what if nobody ever wrote the best story? What if the story I want to read just hasn’t been written yet?” and then you decided that, obviously, it is up to you to write that story. I suspect this must sound familiar to anybody who writes, but I might be wrong. It might just be the way I think that lead me to come to this conclusion, but I would guess I am not alone in the thought.

Unfortunately for me, I am an awful writer. Really, truly, horrible. More than that, I am finding that I write the story so well in my head that trying to put it into words, and subsequently failing horribly, is extremely frustrating. Of course, I am not going to stop. Nothing of consequence was ever gained without sacrificing something. (Erm, I think that is a quote, but I can’t think who said it. Somebody preemptively stealing my ideas, no doubt. =P That was also a quote that I cannot recall the original speaker of.) -.^ And I just called just referred to the stories in my head as “something of consequence” and that sounds ridiculous, because they are probably only of consequence to me, after all. But, whatever.

Ok, point of this totally rambling, seemingly pointless, and probably confusing discourse is this: sometimes that things that hurt the worst are the things we want the most. I guess that sounds masochistic, but it isn’t supposed to. And this wasn’t supposed to sound depressed, I swear! Reading over this again makes me feel like some emo child, but I really din’t mean to come off that way. What I’m trying to say is that sometimes it is worth getting hurt for something you really like. Sometimes the effort is worth it. (Effort. You hear me? I said effort. That isn’t a word that people tend to like. It typically means trying hard for something, after all.)

And that still doesn’t sound happy. =/ Well, fine then, I already said I am a poor excuse for a writer, so it is only to be expected that I can’t ever convey my thoughts properly. Whatever, I’ll get there some day (preferably sooner, than later).

On a different note, I just reread Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. I love that book. I’d thought I lost my copy of it, but I just found it. It had gotten mis-shelved on one of my bookcases. I own a whole ton of mass market paperbacks, and I shelve those separately from my hardbacks and paperbacks of irregular sizes. One of the series I own entirely in paperback is the Redwall series by Brian Jacques (An excellent children’s series, by the way. If you are trying to entice anybody under the age of 13 into reading, give them Redwall. It is a good read, and it encourages a real love of literature, as apposed to reading some more superficial books, that they might enjoy, but will never inspire them to read more later.) (EDIT: Just realized I didn’t finish that thought. Oops. Here is the rest of it:) My copy of Howl’s Moving Castle is also a mass market paperback, and the spine of it is almost completely white now. The same is true of almost all my Redwall series. Somebody put Howl’s Moving Castle in the middle of the Redwall series, which is obviously a mistake. But I found it the other day, almost completely by accident, and I am very happy. There! I finished the thought now. =P



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