The hardest part of writing is realizing (or accepting) that I have something to say. It’s laughable how pitiful the voice in my head is for whispering at me incessantly and, at the same time, telling me I have nothing to write.
Scandalous.
So, what do I have to say that others don’t, or won’t bring themselves to? What honest statement can I make that will make someone say “Holy shit! That’s how I feel!”? How can I help someone feel something they’re already feeling?
Ugh. A stream of consciousness blog post? “Really Christian?” (you say) is that the best you can do after all this talk of being a writer, or wanting to be a writer, going to journalism classes and workshops. Is this unedited river of sludge all that’s in your file-folder of talent?
Fuck off I say. At least I’m being honest with myself, for the first time in…a long time. At least I’m respecting myself enough to honor my boundaries and allow myself a clean sheet of paper and pen. At least I’m not editing my first word so heavily I never get to the second. Take that!
The thing is: I have said before that I write this blog for others, to read and feel accepted and less alone and blah blah blah, but while it’s a nice idea (and one I’ll certainly hang on to when talking to people at dinner parties), it’s kinda bull.
No:
This blog is for me. I write it so that I feel less alone. I write to show myself that I have some worth when everything feels like it’s trying to prove otherwise. I write and publish the stuff online because, once people have read my blog, if they’re hanging out around me, they accept me by default. They have to.
But one day I will realize (and funny enough, this day has not come), that hiding in the open is still hiding, and acceptance by default isn’t really a workable concept. One day I will understand that short-cuts don’t work, and that the only real way to feel real, and loved, and worth something, is to learn how to do it in person.
Are you still here? Go do something real.
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This is a problem I’ve been wondering about for a while. While I try to imitate a stream of consciousness structure in a few ways in my recent writing, a constant concern for me is how the actuality of stream of consciousness is so much uglier than the processed version that ends up in the final product. There’s the constant concern that the depiction of the stream of consciousness without filtration, as an earnest depiction of one’s innermost thoughts, will reveal a torrent of solipsistic abrasive thoughts that serve only to alienate the audience. I try to counterbalance this by maintaining a constantly self-conscious tone, wherein I try to make sure that the audience is aware at all times that I am an unreliable narrator to my own life. I plan at some point to make it clear how even the viciously self-devouring stuff I’m posting now is not really a depiction of my emotions but an attempt to evoke them within the audience.
I’m always just concerned that depicting an earnest stream of consciousness in my writing would start off with “DON’T EVEN FUCKING BOTHER READING THE REST OF THE POST I DON’T CARE THAT MUCH ABOUT HOW YOU RECEIVE THE WRITING JUST LOOK AT MY DICK AND SAY GOOD THINGS ABOUT MY DICK PLEASE THANK YOU”
Profanity. This is a change in you. It real does have merit. Stream of thought profanity – a sort of stand-up comedy routine – that can be quite hilarious. Raphael and I often laugh our heads off while engaging in this form of banter. I feel what you are saying: hiding, love, now, etcetera. We need to talk. How can we make time? Love you. LAUGH! It is great medicine.