When I first thought about analyzing books from a psuedo-futuristic perspective, I thought it was a pretty witty idea. After all, after hearing enough lunatic concepts of what writers must have been thinking when they gave a little girl a red cape, I’ve come to appreciate that people who analyze fiction are often looking for something more than is actually there. To me, that’s hilarious. But then something happened…
See, when it came time to sit down and think about the next book or series to review in this fashion, I realized a few things that were troubling to me. First, I couldn’t think of any other book or series that I figured would survive past our generation that I could analyze in the same tongue-in-cheek fashion. Second, of the ones I could think of that I could poke fun at, none of them seemed truly worthwhile to me. Third, Edward was a vampire. Fourth, I honestly didn’t want to go there.
Not to say that I don’t see a point in analyzing that which shall not be named. On the contrary, I analyze it often, because there’s a troubling undercurrent to the concept that it exists and that it’s as popular as it is. Quite honestly, I don’t think those around me understand why exactly I analyze it as much as I do, they all know my opinion of it, but at least one of them would rather I just shut up about it. For one thing, no, I am not a fan of it. I can’t say I entirely hate it either because I really feel more of a neutral curiosity towards it. You see, it brings my world view of the industry as a whole into question.
Woo, it’s taken a while to even figure out how to start with this post. In fact, even right now I’m thinking of blanking the screen again and starting from scratch. I don’t know what it is about me but I can’t seem to write (or think) when in a truly distressed position. I’ve heard of all of these people who’ve been able to create these truly great works while depressed, angry or just out there. But I can’t seem to do that. Later on, maybe, I can dump what I felt in a more stressful time into my work. But for the most part, the more stressed I am, the harder it is to organize even thoughts like this.
I don’t know why it happens. Maybe I’m afraid I’ll end up saying or doing something that I really don’t want to do to my work. I know that on more than one occasion I’ve pictured a character going on this violent rampage and taking people out. But this feeling of repression and deep seated aggression lingering somewhere in my normally gentle soul is disturbing. Why the hell is it there?
Truthfully, I think I know why. But I hate to admit what it is. And, in a moment of great irony, I have no idea how to effectively put it into words. Every time I start to write it out or think it through I find myself going down these darker roads I don’t like. Try as I might, I just come back to this point and go “where the hell do I go from here?”
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!
“If triangles had a god, he would have three sides” – Charles de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu
The quote is something I’ve known for years but never knew who to attribute it to. I had to look it up, really. But something about it says a lot about who we are as a people. If you think about it, people throughout time have been worshiping entities which, generally, look like us. Even in the cases where there were animal spirits we somehow managed to anthropomorphize them in ways that make little sense. In fact, in some form or another, we’ve always believed ourselves to somehow be the center of the universe, even now. Sure, we don’t believe in a geocentric universe anymore (most of us), but we still have little quirks about us that we (at least, the majority of us) haven’t really considered in the same light. To each of us, we are the center of our own universe and everyone else is, if not completely, mostly wrong in their own views. Example: perspective.
When I started to write this post I was fueled to do so by a number of motivations. One being that I was looking to use some of these thoughts as the basis of a story. Another being an uncomfortable and unhappy conversation I had on my birthday a few days ago. But in the course of starting this post I looked at the date and realized something important, today was an anniversary that was worth mentioning.
After some poking, prodding and a little helpful advice from someone identified to me as a “published author” I have come to start a blog. Something about the idea of doing one of these has always chafed me slightly. Maybe it’s because in this day and age it seems that everyone has one of these in some form or another. Though if I try to be a non-conformist and buck the trend it would mean I’m trying to be an individual… just like everyone else. We’re all precious and unique snowflakes until we get added to the pile, after all. Still, it can’t hurt much to have a space to air my observations, display some of my work and share the curiosities I’ve seen around me.
So I broke down, signed up for an account and got to work on setting up a blog for myself. Most of it was an easy enough endeavor: sign up an account with an e-mail, put in your personal information, choose a template. But there was one detail that escaped me for some time and required a small focus group to try to tackle: the title.