Scatty, random prompts again.
December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
My word is Obsession. It could also have been Rut, or, were we allowed three, Brink of Madness.
See, I thought it would be an interesting idea to write an epic novel around the subject of one of history’s most infamous characters. Obviously this requires a deep level of understanding of the subject matter, and for me to get inside their head, as much as I could. I’m not saying I went method – nobody was killed – but I constantly filled my brain with so much of the relevant person, setting and time period, that there was barely a moment in 2010 where their name wasn’t dancing through my mind, like some weird teenage crush. I had to be able to see the world through their eyes, so consequently, I thought about them all the live-long day, dreamt about them when I was asleep, and they were often the first thing on my mind upon waking. There were times when I genuinely felt like I was being sucked into something terrible and mentally destructive, especially considering the historical context of this particular individual and the control-based relationship they have with the rest of the human race.
I know I’m being cagey, and without knowing who I’m talking about this entry doesn’t make the best of sense, but I don’t have a publisher yet, so I’m going to keep it on the down-low. To narrow it down, it’s not Dustin Diamond.
The word that captures 2011 better be Success, or I’m fucked.
December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
There’s nothing that doesn’t contribute to my writing. Nothing. Writing is all I have, and all I am, really. I wouldn’t know how else to define myself, as it feels as though it’s 100% of my core being. It’s probably unhealthy, but it’s all I know. A psychiatrist would probably say that writing is my security blanket exactly because it’s all I know. No need for relationships, and no time to think about why you may be deeply unhappy if you’re busily buried inside the fictional worlds you’re creating, right kids?!
But anyway, if I’m not writing, then I’m thinking about it. I read a lot. I relax by watching movies or good TV shows, and automatically analysing why they did or didn’t work for me, and either being inspired by something great to create stuff of my own, or being so angered by the shitty and mediocre and knowing I could do better, that I throw myself into more work.
If I’m listening to music, then I’m picturing scenes – either consciously or just daydreaming moments that might end up in a script or story someday. If I’m with people, I’m on the outside of the conversation observing any verbal and physical ticks that I can lift for characters. People-Watching is a sinister phrase, which implies the use of bushes and a telescope, and trousers that flop around ankles, but I do like to watch folks in their natural habitats, going about their lives. I’m way more interested in observing society than being a part of it. I’ve always got a notepad on me, and I’m constantly on the lookout for anything that might spark an idea, or be worthy of popping into a story, script, blog or tweet.
The empty page has been my enemy and my friend, my mouth and my ear, and without it, I am nothing.
Except maybe, really pretentious.