Page 26 of 331

I AM NOT DEAD

Art by Vance Kovacs, courtesy Wizards of the Coast

Well, I suppose if you follow me on any social media outlets, you’re aware of the fact that I’m not dead. So this is non-news.

BUT MY BLOG IS NOT DEAD EITHER.

I am recovering from some truly reeling blows in my personal life, and slowly but surely establishing a baseline. Building a foundation for the future. Getting my shit together.

The blog is coming back. Slowly, but surely.

Hopefully, this week, I’ll return to writing flash fiction, give some thoughts on games, perhaps indulge in a little fanfiction, and bring back the Friday 500.

Stay tuned, true believers. I’ve been down, but I’m nowhere near out.

Today’s art: Rise from the Grave by Vance Kovacs

Self-Care For Artistic Types

This is for those of you out there trying to create something new. Bucking trends. Swimming upstream. Letting your dreams come to life through one medium or another. You’re making art.

Good.

Please take care of yourself.

I know, I know. Pot, kettle. I’ve been struggling with self-care, myself. Seeing therapists, taking medication, working through issues through journaling and my Innercom Chatter project (more on that as it develops), allowing myself breaks and celebrating minor victories. Unfortunately, I have not done things like eat regular meals, get more exercise, stick to my vegan path as much as I’d like, or remain in strong communication with friends. I mean, I’m not shutting myself off, but I’m not exactly being outgoing and gregarious either. It’s usually an invitation from a friend that gets me out, not me seeking to be around friends. It’s a narrow distinction.

Anyway. Self-care is a thing you should be doing.

Whether you’re caught up in creating, berating yourself for not creating enough, or hating whatever it is you’ve created, remind yourself that it’s okay. You’re only human. You’re allowed to give yourself some breathing room, take breaks, and breathe, for crying out loud. It’s something I need to remind myself of every day, and yes, some days are better than others. That’ll be the way for you, too.

Just remember that you’re worth taking care of. And, at the end of the day, the best and most reliable person you have to take care of you is you.

Two cents from the edge.

I Am Not Okay

“Everything is terrible and nothing is not on fire.”

I’m sure most of the people who read this know, but for those of you don’t, I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This consists of cycling between two modes of thought and mood: depression and mania. In my case, as my disorder is less severe than others, the opposite of depression for me is “hypomania”. While other factors may cause me to cycle rapidly between different moods – my case worker calls this “emotional reactivity” and suggests it’s different from bipolar – the depressive state and the hypomanic state are different baselines.

I am very aware of when I’m depressed.

Hypomanic, less so.

Over the past week or so, I have had a hypomanic episode.

Maniacs do highly obvious and out-of-character things when they are in the throes of an episode. Hypomania is more subtle, and in that way, more destructive. Hypomania is unrestrained energy and attachment to joyous, uplifting, or simply distracting things. It’s a tendency to spend more money than one really should, losing track of budgets, and accruing debt. It’s ignoring self-care in favor of being out, having fun, and indulging in pleasures, vices, and ultimately self-destructive behaviors which are also damaging to others.

The problem is, these things are fun, and in the midst of an episode, I feel happy.

Please understand that, as I write this, I do not consider it an excuse for my behavior, or for decisions I’ve made. This is an explanation. Like the discovery of motive during a criminal trial, my realization of the episode explains some of the poor decisions I’ve made. Those decisions were still made by me, and I must accept responsibility for them and deal with their consequences. It’s more than making apologies and admitting I’ve fucked up. It is making an active effort to do better, act better, be better.

It begins with admitting that I am not okay.

My instinct is to run away from things. To cut ties with the people I’ve hurt and go into radio silence. To push away those who care about me. To crawl into a hole and pull it closed after me. But what would that change? How would that help me and, more importantly, people I’ve hurt? The answer is that it wouldn’t. These things are knee-jerk reactions caused by swinging back downwards into depression.

I need help. I must discuss with professionals ways to be more aware of swings into hypomania, if there is medication to give my mental state a “ceiling”, and what else I can do to establish a balanced mental baseline. I am already on medication, mood stabilizers, to mitigate some of the swings. However, since my baseline is typically low (I stay depressed for months and this hypomanic episode was a mere few days) I need to find ways to raise it. In the meantime, I need to return to more focused, more active self-care. Cleaning up my messes. Sleeping more. Eating. Looking myself in the mirror and knowing that I won’t like what I see.

I neither expect nor demand help from my friends. Professionals, yes. Friends, no. I have some great people in my life who will want to help and give advice. I’ll accept what I’m given but I won’t make a habit of asking. The last thing I want is to cause further discomfort or give the impression I’m using any of the above to manipulate the situation in my favor. I’m not a con man. This is not a game. This is damage control.

I am not okay.

And I won’t be okay until I deal with this aspect of my issues, first and foremost, before anybody else gets hurt.

So I’m going to do that.

We’ll Never Be Royals

“You should write about all of this,” my father suggested. “And then write a book about it.”

He’s referring to some of the recent events in my life. Things that have changed it forever. Events have occurred that are forcing me to put the brakes on a lot of the interests and intentions that have kind of existed on autopilot for years, and peel them apart so I can hold on to what makes sense for me as an individual, and discard what gets in my way and does harm to others.

I have a problem with writing a book about it, though.

For one, I’m a novelist. I don’t do as well with non-fiction. I feel like I either come across too dry or make something too anecdotal or conversational. Which leads to the other, bigger problem.

I’m not noble.

My fear is that, in conveying the events of my life up to this point and the path I have ahead of me that I must travel, I’ll come across as some kind of hero or saint. That I will lionize myself while demonizing the people who have influenced my life. Honestly, there’s nothing heroic or even all that brave about what I’m doing. It’s necessary, hard, thankless work. And the people who have influenced me certainly don’t feel I’m doing anything extraordinary, as this is work that’s needed doing for a long time.

I’m not royalty, and I never will be.

A big part of the work I need to do is removing the romantic ideal from my perspective of my story. I am my own protagonist, sure, but I’m no hero. I’m not somehow morally or ethically sacrosanct. I’m human. I’m flawed. I’ve fucked up. I’ve hurt people.

There are very few people that haven’t.

It’s nice to imagine, to write about, to witness. Paragons of virtue doing battle with the forces of darkness. We thrill to those stories. We become a part of them. We act out those fantasies. We make them apart of our lives.

But that isn’t the truth. And trying to make it that way is folly.

That’s why I shy from writing a book about what I’m going through, what I’ve been through, and what’s ahead. My life is a broken, irregular trail of broken hearts, damaged souls, and shattered dreams. It isn’t anything to be celebrated or idolized. I am not your fucking inspiration porn.

I mean, if you draw some meaning or hope from everything I relate, that’s awesome. Use it. Learn from it.

But putting myself out there as some sort of guru smacks of hypocrisy. I will not do it. I will not be one of those falsely smiling faces you see in the Inspiration section of a bookstore.

There are other authors willing to do that. I ain’t one of them.

I write about witches, wizards, fallen heroes, magnificent bastards, heartache, monsters, darkness, and despair. And somewhere in there, maybe, I might convey some compassion. Inspiration. Determination. Hope.

Just don’t look for it in non-fiction.

We write about the royals that we will never be.

The Aftermath Review: Let Go Of Your Hatred

There are a lot of people out there who don’t, and won’t, like this book.

I’m pretty sure I know why, and it has nothing to do with the plot or characters of Aftermath: Star Wars. It has to do with the book’s very existence.

Courtesy Del Rey Books

You see, Aftermath, written by Chuck Wendig, takes place between the end of the original trilogy of films, Return of the Jedi, and the upcoming JJ Abrams addition to the franchise, The Force Awakens. It chronicles the effect of the fall of the Empire’s leadership and the loss of the second Death Star on one of the far-flung worlds in the galaxy, and how its people struggle against an Empire that refuses to surrender or fade into the night. I won’t go into laborious detail about it, because in the end equation, it’s not anything terribly original. Oh, the characters fill out their roles quite well, coming across more like people and less like cardboard cut-outs, and the use of present tense keeps the action well-paced and immediate rather than getting bogged down in exposition or pontification. For what it’s worth, Chuck does what Chuck does best: punchy dialog that doesn’t mess around, Hemingway-esque connective prose that’s just as short and to-the-point, and just enough intrigue and provocative ideas to keep the action from feeling too shallow or the characters too weak.

For the record, I don’t think this book as quite as good as some of Chuck’s other work, such as Blackbirds or The Blue Blazes. Merely my opinion.

BUT.

The point is that, as Star Wars novels go, this is a good one. While it doesn’t quite have the grandiosity of Timothy Zahn’s works or the space swashbuckling of Michael A. Stackpole, it also doesn’t suffer from the byzantine structures of the old expanded universe. And that’s a big part of the reason why people hate it so much.

They might say negative things about the plot or characters, but I cannot imagine that a large portion of the negative reactions come from a biased perspective. While I may be biased towards Wendig’s writing in general, I am also a long-time Star Wars fan, and I mourned the loss of Zahn’s trilogy and the exploits of Rogue Squadron when it was announced that the old canon was being ejected. It hurt, to be honest.

But things change. And we move on.

In the end, you really can’t ask for a better bridge than the writing of Wendig, both between the two films and the old EU and the new. It does its job, workman-like, moving the story towards its ultimate destination and using enough familiar faces to acclimate open-minded readers to a universe both old and new. All we have to do is let go of our hatred of change and the unfamiliar. Much like a black stormtrooper, a three-bladed lightsaber, or a woman in shining armor, change is good even if it seems strange or unnecessary, and it is up to us to embrace it and see where the new journey takes us. Anything less cheapens our beloved stories, derides the creative endeavors of people like Wendig, and makes us look foolish and childish. Do better, Star Wars fans. Be better. Let go of your hate.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2024 Blue Ink Alchemy

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑