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04 November 2009 @ 01:12 am
So I haven't been updating.  Sue me.

I noticed something.  Syd's been coming up with an idea for a series lately, and obviously I'm doing NaNoWriMo (which I've decided against publishing here, because I absolutely hated my first entry and decided to go no further until I rewrote it to make it more grimdark) and am soon to take a class that will require me to write, and I noticed this.  I have lost any ability whatsoever to make a character interesting to myself.

I think what it comes down to is cliché and whether or not you believe in originality.  Originality implies it's new, it's something that hasn't been done before.  That within itself creates a minor paradox: everything has been done before.  If you want to get philosophical with it, everything has a perfect form, and everything can only hope to strive to be like that perfect form (at least, in Platonic terms.  Doesn't mean it's right).  So what's the deal?

Years ago, in a far distant land, I decided I hated characters that were blatant rip-offs of other characters.  I've decided if I can make a parallel to a character upon my first meeting with that character, I'm probably not a fan of that character (unless it's Rick Castle).  This is absolutely ridiculous.  The first original character I ever made, and easily my favorite, Vance Farthing, was a conglomeration of everything I loved (and hated, to make things interesting) as a 14 year old.  In the seven years since then, I've been trying to rework the character and have removed everything that made the character interesting personality-wise.

To an extent, I guess I think this somewhat resembles what I'm doing to myself.  I've removed most of what made me interesting, because in a college setting, there is a larger pool of people in which to be graded against.  I'm no longer alpha nerd because I've seen far worse than I, and I absolutely hate them for being what I was or could have been.  Sue me.  I've seen super otaku, and God forbid I give myself over to a culture I can critique as easily as I can love (but that's healthy).  My humor is being drained because I no longer have exclusive access to 4chan or YouTube, and I'm no longer the center of a group of people I may or may not have had serious influence over at the time.  I'm no longer a hyper-liberal because I've meet the definition of liberal and it pissed me off.  I'm a pantheist because I can't stand it when people like to pretend they know better, and that's an easy thing to come by-I'm coming to hate atheists (God forgive me) because of their sheer pretentious nature, and I have trouble with agnostics because they're pantheist-lite: acceptance (or laziness) with half the faith.  And faith has always been a major tenant of my personality. I mean, what happened?  Did my balls fall off or something? 

In total, I'm afraid of making character I laugh at when others write them.  Several of Justin's friends, and Justin himself, come up with concepts I find laughable for their role-playing characters: one of them is Leviathan, as based on a character from Fullmetal Alchemist?  Are you shitting me?  Another is based on Lucifer, because that's his characters father?  Are you that lazy?  Justin is no where near as bad about this, but I suppose it bothers me on some level, and not because I can't make it-I can.  I just try to look at more mundane things to make characters.

And there's the rub.  A character whose central conflict is merely belief is boring, especially in a role-playing game.  In a story, I have complete control.  Outside of it, I don't, and a majority of my characters exist in my head as role-playing characters because I think they'd be interesting to play as.

But what's wrong with a character related to Leviathan, Samael, or the Sun?  None of those things are inherently wrong, nor uncreative (that's not true-Jeremy and Mitchell are the epitome of those things).  I made a series of characters based on the Major and Minor Arcana of the Tarot, and I loved those-But I'll never use them.  I make interesting characters that never come to life.

Maybe I'm writing this because I'm disgruntled I never do anything with characters before I forget them.  By my nature, I make worlds, in hopes someone will take it from me and make it their own, so I can play a character in that world.  But until recently that had never happened, and even then, it was strange.  I think I want to write more than I want to let someone else take over the burden of creation, because I know what I can do.  I don't know what they can do, because it's never enough to gauge someone else's creativity.  Because you can't gauge it well enough.

NaNoWriMo is going well enough.  I've got interesting, at least in my eyes, ideas for the stock, the father, the changeling, and Fibb, especially Fibb and the stock, but beyond that I dunno.  My project, I suppose simply titled Revolution at this point, is going to be fantastic to do.  But I hate it that my characters aren't interesting beyond story conflicts.  Shouldn't characters be appealing outside of stories?  Isn't that what I want?  Instead of normalcy placed in non-normal situations?  I don't think so, now that I think about it.

I think normalcy is alright.  But the incredible is just as great.  It's all a manner of balance.  I just need to find that balance.  And how will I find it?

Experience, me thinks.

But that's enough for now.
This is my home; I'm coming home: Syd's House
No one understands what Major Tom sees: Tired
The count goes on: Lady Gaga-Poker Face
01 November 2009 @ 03:43 am
 So, here comes NaNoWriMo 2009.  I've written a supposed prologue, which is absolutely dreadful in my humble opinion, but who says you can't edit your old stuff?  I'm following the guidelines; I won't be submitting it anywhere else but here.

To go along with it, I'm also going to write in this journal every time I update with a chapter of stuffness.  I'm also going to make a world in a month as well-when I say world, I mean a setting for which to write a book(s), play D&D, whatever-I do it for fun, but I'm going to chronicle it for fun and for my own sadistic purposes, to analyze myself and how the process works.  That can be found here.  I will have a blog over there, maintaining it every day.  So there's that.

Being that the muse has left me, my post consists of explanation.  And the early bit of NaNoWriMo, terrible though it is.



This is my home; I'm coming home: Syd's House
No one understands what Major Tom sees: busyMust. Finish. Paper
The count goes on: Rachael-She Wants Revenge
30 June 2009 @ 09:59 am
I Am  
So starting about four or five weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that Texarkana was a giant energy drain that essentially took all sorts of crazy energy out of you and displaced it completely. In retrospect, the same could be said of any location-it just depends on who you are and what you let take from you. It's not Texarkana, it's me. In the last couple of weeks, no, years, I've found myself slowly losing my idealistic self. This was, to be frank, a mistake. I have ideals, I have morals, but I daresay I've become a special kind of apathetic. Maybe it's that 20's existentialism I fear so much, but let's face it, existentialism is kind of a choice of outlook. 20's existentialism is a construct of society to explain a phenomenon it can't deal with itself because it creates the assumption that anyone can do anything. This isn't untrue, but because society can't go the whole nine yards and allow for "anything" to happen more than 3/10 times (random numbers are random), for those seeking "anything," the loss of potential is damaging and damning.

What it comes down to is the fact that I'm tired of sitting around wondering what's wrong with me, if I'm manic-depressive, and why I've filled my life with Dungeons and Dragons and little else. I want to say it's because I love the feel of losing myself in the fantasy of it, but that would be a lie-I don't even really go anywhere anymore, but that's no one's fault but my own. I have no drive, no motivation, no reason to do what I do. I'm simply going through the motions, and I haven't even hit 21 yet! Goddamn, you know?

I live knowing what I am not. Defining yourself based on what you are not as opposed to what you are is weakness, but because defining one's self by what they are is a much harder thing to do, let alone to answer. I love to listen to people's adventures across seas, across all sorts of places, but I haven't gotten up and done anything myself. This is because to me, I have defined myself as not adventurous in the literal sense. There are a million things I would like to do. I would like one day to get on a flight to Thailand and maybe a month, maybe a year later, I don't know, show back up in an airport in Madrid or something. I don't like living by the fact I have to know what's planned. I like adventure. I just never take them because I fear fucking up. Having things defined for me, this comfy little living, this comfortable room I live in (albeit with shit everywhere, I suspect Thailand may be cleaner)-they spoil me to stay here and do something normal. Be a teacher, so I hear.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's a bad thing. But that's what I'm not. Not what I am. I am is a statement of potential; I am not destroys any potential. I don't believe in making the choice for anyone else, but I'm of the belief that abortion is wrong simply because of the potential it destroys. If I met Klara Hitler in that Inn all those years ago, and I could convince her to kill baby Hitler, I wouldn't do so simply because of the potential anyone has-fate is a red herring, mind you. Nothing in this world is absolute except for the fact that you are. Your existence is guaranteed, despite what some pompous philosophy major tells you, and by that, you have a world of options to exploit, if you're just willing to let go of comfort and do things.

Something about American society limits that. I have to fit the mold of society and fulfill a role simply because it's the only thing to do. I can climb social ladders, I can load garbage cans into the back of a truck at your house every Monday and Thursday (Friday on weeks with holidays). I sit here, even know, with a million things I could do. I could go out and snap a million photographs of this decaying little hamlet and enjoy them, or I could simply go strolling across the world and end up like a piece of bacon left in a skillet (the likelihood of this happening is slim, as I am already baconated by the sun). I choose what part of my potential to go with, and that proves to me that I am. I choose to write this because part of me tells me that, because I no longer write, I am going to go mad one day because I've lost myself in a sea of despondency and failure.

Sometimes I am can be as painful as what I am not. I am addicted to the computer, so much that sometimes, when I'm sitting here with nothing to do, I go to the same three webpages again and again in hopes that something new and interesting will have popped up. Facebook can only go so far-there can only be so much movie news-and that one D&D-based comic barely updates twice a week, let alone every five minutes. But I am willing to admit this, so I can do my best to avoid this. After I'm done writing this, I'm going to clean my room because I don't have the leg capacity to keep stepping on things, because I'm sunburnt to hell. But on the other side of that, I am can be a beautiful as it is dangerous. I am blessed with amazing, caring, hilariously silly friends and family, and I am madly in love with every one of them, just some more than others. Sure, sometimes they make me feel stupid, incompetent, immature, unimaginative, ridiculous, unfunny, but they're there, and that's what counts. I have just as much potential of being those things as being the opposite of those things. It's that part of potential that makes everything so much fun, but so scary-it's so broad and open. I could be just about anything, though I am decidedly not a buttfucking pedophile with scabies. Sometimes not being is better than potentially being. I say this because I don't want the FBI to park their party van outside my house. You should see the drafts I went through to censor myself to non-FBI involvement.

I don't really know what it is about writing that makes me feel so much better, so much more fulfilled, but hey, it works. I would write this to myself, and herper derp around with a folder of things that are just mine to read. But there's something about leaving things out there for others to read that make it more exciting. You don't know who's going to read it, what their response is going to be (comments aside). It's potential and it's exciting to me. It's what got me into writing to begin with, and I think that because I don't write anymore, I don't think anymore, and because I don't think anymore, I'm hastening an overnight trip to the funny farm.

Praytell I am not that mad yet.
This is my home; I'm coming home: Home
No one understands what Major Tom sees: Inspiredesque
The count goes on: Stellamara-Kyrie Eleison
17 February 2008 @ 03:53 am

This is Greg's journal.  And it's Friends Only.

So add here if you're interested in getting added.  I may add you, I may not.  Check for Great Justice. 
This is my home; I'm coming home: The Moon
No one understands what Major Tom sees: Quick, Burn Zoloft!
The count goes on: F@$# the System-System of a Down