There's is this book called Lisey's Story by Stephen King--and this book is possibly one of the best books I've read in a long time. It was so unexpected and...random and amazing and I got it. Although I always knew that it was my destiny to become a writer, when I read that book about a year ago--writing had suddenly meant so much to me.
If you're a fan of Stephen King and you've read Lisey's Story, you'll see that he made some connections to his other previous works; for example: The Shining, Dreamcatcher, Bag of Bones, Needful Things, among a few more--and that alone, I thought was pretty brilliant.
The novel is full of these references from songs, books and poems that ended up having meaning to one of the central characters (who happens to be dead, the story is told by his widow, Lisey) and it makes the story magnificent.
However, this blog entry isn't to speak about the book--I'll probably go into detail about it some other day.
The reason why I brought up this particular piece of work is because it is the entire reason I began writing again.
I'm trying to think about how to describe what I mean, and it's difficult because I have so many different thoughts going on in my head about this.
There is this song called Halo sung by Beyonce (and I'm not a huge pop fan) and while I'm not her biggest fan, I heard this song--and immediately I thought of the book I'm finishing. Now, initially, when I started this book, it was going to be an entry for a short story contest. But as I'm continuing to chop this story up to make it meet the 4000 max word requirment, I realized that I couldn't do it--that there was too much of this story left to be told--too many aspects of life that needed to be discovered.
It's strange, because not that long ago, I was bitching on this blog about writing an outline for another project, and the outline killed that desire completely. When I began writing this story, it flowed so naturally and beautifully and I realized--THIS is the story that I want to write. So I see this video, and hear this song--and I play it continually in my head while I'm writing because the story is about finding light and hope...it's about conquering the dark and all of those things--things I have a very personal stake in. Hell, I'm still fighting...it's an everyday battle not to give into those shadows that can crowd your mind and pull you in.
The whole fucked up thing about...everything...is that I've been writing all my life--and I know that I'm good...but it's those dark things, that Slithering Thing in my head that has had me fooled for 15 or so years, telling me that I can't do this because I'm not good enough. And I've listened to it.
I've sat on my bed with papers and pens and pencils and all of those things surrounding me, wondering why the fuck I couldn't get a thing onto paper. Why the hell is this story (before I knew what it was) not coming even though I knew it was there.
I would be actually reduced to tears--throwing my stuff across the room (when I was alone of course) thinking about how unfair it all was.
The frusteration still comes...but I think I've found that hole and I lept into it knowing that I may never come out of it. And that's what I've always wanted. I go through my days and it's like, everything is built of words and metaphors. People become characters and I dream in words. It's a struggle not to give up...not to give into the Slithering Thing that's sole purpose is to make sure I have a mediocre, unimportant existance and have absolutely no impact on anyone's life.
It's been my dream...my desire, my foolish hope that I would write the next great American novel.
How far from it am I--I don't know. Maybe a few weeks...maybe a few months...maybe a year. But I fell...and beyond that--not much else matters.