While searching for music to inspire me, I found something interesting. I’ve been working on a short story to submit to this anthology that required an overall theme of music and needed to find just the right kind of music to really drive me. But when I asked for suggestions, I found something else to inspire me that I hadn’t expected. I found a little piece of my own memory.
The human memory is a funny thing. When I was younger I had a lot of moments that stuck with me forever, never the ones I’ve wanted to keep. I remember the first time someone spat in my face, the first time I was knocked out in the middle of a scuffle and what it feels like to be flipped upside down by a clothesline. Strangely peaceful, actually.
The thing is, most of these memories should have been knocked out of my head by whatever cataclysmic event befell my skull in the next few seconds. I did not land from that back-flip gracefully. Though people did clap because apparently I tumbled twice over the course of it.
Still not sure how that happened in flag football.
But, the point is, I never remember the really important things like why I would want to write sci-fi and fantasy of all things. Surely, there are more practical genres. I’ve read that the advances on non-fiction typically eat fiction alive. Which is ironic because that sounds like an excellent Sci-fi story: “A monster devours all cultural artifacts to break the human spirit…then writes a memoir.”
When I first set up this blog I considered many different names. Oh it was so long ago, I feel such nostalgia thinking back on those youthful days. I was younger, a whole number lower than I am now, though, sure, you could argue that it was the day just before my birthday so that’s technically cheating. Still, I long for the carefree days of last month.
Now I’m older and wiser, I assure you.
And back in those wonderful days I considered many names other than the one I ended up with. One of those names was “The Inspired Lemming”, likely inspired by my friend’s gaming moniker of “Tsunami Wombat”. But at the time I was told it was too silly sounding, unlike the current one where it sound like I do angel dust off of walnut trees. Still, I had my reasons at the time, a grand philosophy if you will:
Over the last few days, my relatives, a lot of them rabid conservatives, have been talking about how terrified they are of things going on in politics. They have this irrational fear that their world will be completely turned upside down in an instant. Sadly, it’s more common for changes to be incremental and gradual over time even if they’re desperately needed.
What’s going on at a federal level doesn’t scare me any. I’m sure parts of it will be inconvenient. But what isn’t?
No, the thing that bothers me the most in the last few weeks is going on in Texas. Texas has been doing their 10 year review of the curriculum. It’s a simple process, almost simple enough to have been explained by School House Rock, which would likely have been called communist or fascist today…
But, because it’s so simple that people don’t realize how big an impact it’s going to cause. And, as it happens under our noses, they’re doing some not so kosher things.
I’ve been, happily, calling myself an “aspiring author” for a long time. Saying it is my way of reminding myself that I’m still working towards my goal without actually having been there. I know I’m also a writer. After all, I’m doing it right now. But the term “author” so often carries with it that feeling like you’ve actually accomplished something and only arrogant jerks try to use it without having done so. Even some published authors have never actually referred to themselves as authors in public, it would be a “douche” move.
So I call myself an aspiring author, which is akin to saying I’m a daydreamer with a keyboard. Sometimes, that thought haunts me.
“Oh god no,” you say about now, “not another writer complaining about how hard their life is!”
Nope, not complaining. I’m sure I could and no one would notice, but I’m instead going to discuss what form this “haunting” takes! What form is that you ask? Tornadoes!
Last week, I was thinking about how self-centered the human race is as a whole and how we tend to do things that put us at the center of our personal worlds. I got off on a tangent, ironically starting to think about myself. But I come back to it a week later remembering why I was thinking about it in the first place.
We’re starting to create new life.
We make them look like us, we make them sound like us and to serve us. But there’s always this assumption that they would somehow *think* like us too. Why? Because many of us, not all, assume that our morality is an objective morality.