Depressive Musings of a Vagabond Whore

Today, I really have to get organized.

This is a difficult task for a Vagabond Whore.

I've been wondering lately what I want out of this whole writing thing. I love the idea of being an author. I am so insanely envious of those people who sit in cafes, filling brown notebooks with their ideas. I love the texture, the feelings, the warmth that I associate with being a writer. I want to be profound. I love the way my script looks filling up yellow sheets of crinkled paper. I love pausing for a sip of (insert affeinated beverage of choice here), collecting my thoughts, and drinking in the aura of my author-ly-ness.

None of these reasons being particularly noble.

Oh, I'd like to have Important Ideas. I'd like to have characters who live their stories through me. I would like to create a world so vital and real it breathes.

Do I believe myself capable of it?

Not really. Sometimes, in my daydreams, I imagine that I could be the kind of person I want to be. But, gods, I feel so disconnected from that person in my dreams. I don't see her as being anyone that I am capable of becoming. I don't see myself as being talented enough, or even having the right temperament.

I am easily discouraged. And I tend to not try very hard when I have even a vague feeling that I am setting myself up for failure. This is so dumb... I know I'll never accomplish anything great this way. And I so badly want to do something great, admirable.

Maybe this is my problem. I want to do things that will make other people happy. I will never feel fulfilled without the approval of others. As much as I want to be an original person; someone who doesn't care what other people think... I want to be recognized for being that kind of person! Arrgh! I am such a hypocrite.

If I am going to be a great writer, I need to be prepared for it to be thankless in all those senses. Most likely, the only person who is going to gain satisfaction from my writing is me. And that satisfaction is going to have to be from the joy of the act itself, not because other people will admire me for it. It's healthy for me to have a certain amount of ambition, of course. It will help try my hardest to get published. But for the actual writing process, I need to throw all these other concerns out the window. Because they get in my way when I'm writing. If I'm self-conscious when I write, it SUCKS.

That's what I have to say for now. I'll be back when I make some progress, hopefully later tonight. I'll also entertain you with some interesting stories---maybe. I just needed to get this down on theoretical paper. Maybe actually saying what I need will help me do it. Maybe. Since I have witnesses.

Goodbye forever for now,
Mei-Mei

A Leisurely Journey into Cece's Cleavage

Ums, yeah.

Today has sucked in general, pretty much highlighting my failings as a person and a writer, all wrapped up in one bright, shining package of SUCK.

It's been a lazy day when I really cannot afford one. I slept until nearly noon, because I stayed up pretty late watching episodes of House on the computer. Then, when I did wake up, I watched more. Woot.

Craig finally came in and roused me from my stupor. I ate several fattening things at Chili's and contemplated my numerous unsuccesses as a dieter as I GORGED myself like an ugly little pig ripe for slaughter.

Craig and I then journeyed to Moe Joe's, and it was like a gloomy little birthday party for a dead kid. All of my favorite baristas made an appearance, and there was fun gossip about how working at Moe Joe's sucks, blabiddyblableg. Cece bitched in the uber-sexy way that only Cece can bitch, compassionate and hateful and sensual all at once, rubbing all over her boob/tummy area as she cited the wrongs of her boss and co-workers.

I became aware of certain Jansen-y feelings aroused by being in her presence and kept wondering what that meant. It doesn't have to be a sexual thing, even though it usually ends up turning out that way. Maybe I'm kidding myself in thinking that it could be anything but that. I had those feelings about Jansen long before I fell so in love with him my guts fell out... so maybe its not long before this happens with Cece too.

I mean... this could just be a thing that happens between me and someone who I don't view as my equal... someone I put on a pedestal and admire rather than viewing them as a friend. I did it often with teachers. Oh, I hate how I'm falling into this old pattern of behavior. I thought I was cured of this at least. Putting on a show for them. Trying to be all witty, look cute/sexy/intelligent. Dazzle them with my originality and depth. Blech.

I've realized that "authority figures" (I put this in quotes because I don't know how to really describe the kind of person I'm talking about... people who aren't my equals... people who I really like, but sense that there is a barrier between me and them... people who I claim I would like to be friends with but almost surely never would be, because I would lose the rush that I get from trying to impress them, contemplating every word they've said, every glance they sent my way, from afar. Admiring them. Mind fucking them. It's Cameron syndrome. It's terrible. I fucking love it. I eat it up. Like ice cream.) inspire the same sort of butterfly-in-my-vagina symptoms that love does, which maybe is why I tend to fall in love with the House figure. The Jansen. The Cece. The Andy. My mind/heart/vagina can't distinguish between the "love" feelings and the "barrier" feelings. They are so damn interconnected that I can't really tell where one ends and the other begins. Maybe they're the same. Maybe the feeling that I thought was love was really just the "barrier" feeling, which I named unrequited love.

This could be why I feel like I'm withholding myself from Tyler. I don't doubt that I love him. That much is definite. But I don't get that same delicious angsty swoop from being with him that I used to. Of course I don't. Because he loves me back. The feeling that I so easily identified as being "in love" is gone, because that was never really the whole story of love. It was just the only part I had ever read. I know that I'm in love with Tyler, but it feels so damn easy that it feels wrong. Where is the pain? Where is the drama? There isn't much, so I inject it in with my own bitchiness. I'm a enneagram 4w5 so/sx... so of course I do. We fucking eat that stuff up.

So, along comes Cece, and all those old feelings come back. I'm not in love with her. There's no real way that that could possibly be true. Yeah, she's sexy. She's a fun person, and she seems nice too. But I don't even know if I could be friends with her. She drinks, she does pot... I dunno. I've become a lot more flexible on my "values" since the end of high school, but it still bothers me. I'm not being super-judgemental about it, because it definitely seems like she's got it together, and that she's a cool, good person. But it still bothers me. I can't help but see that kind of stuff as being self-destructive. Plus, it just highlights how much I don't know about her.

Besides, I really don't think I'm bi. Somewhat bi curious? For sure. I wouldn't be writing this if I weren't. But could I really see myself as having any kind of serious relationship with a girl? Even enjoying having physical contact with her? Not really. I kind of feel the same way about sexual contact with a girl now as I did about sexual contact in general when I was 12/13. Hot in theory, but kind of gross in practice.

Yet, here I am in Moe Joe's, talking to this girl and feeling all those familiar pangs, aches, and flutters, as she bats her eyes, pats her tummy, and languishes on the couch looking like a coffee goddess. I am full of admiration. I find it impossible to act natural. I go kinda twitchy, I laugh too loudly, and I try waaay too hard to seem like a cool kid. Lord. My own tummy goes all fluttery when she says my name. No, this is not a juvenile recitation of an old cliche. I literally get my stupid goo-goo feelings when she says my name. She never used to say it. Now, all of a sudden, it's 'Melissa' this, 'Melissa' that. I love it when she looks at me. And hate it. I feel like a slug next to her. An oozy little fat thing. Lard and poop.

Ah, the angst.

I am a freakin highschooler. I really, really, really have to get over this shit. It is stupid. This isn't love. This is particular, this Cece thing... this might actually be all lust. Which is weird. I never really lusted after anyone before. Jansen was completely unattractive. I was all in it for the personality which, admittedly, was not as great as I wanted to believe... but still. My feelings for Cece... I have no real reason to like her much better than anyone else. She's a cool person, sure... but not really special the way I like my victims to be. She's not artsy, or bombastically funny, or complex. She's relatively healthy, for godssake! So what is it I like about her?

She's hooootttt.

Maybe this is good for me. I suppose everyone has to have someone to lust over at least once. I've graduated from silly, unrealistic puppy love at least (read Jansen).

Sometimes I think I've just got a screwy biological clock. I got my period relatively early, but I didn't really start getting armpit hair until the end of senior year. I didn't get anything resembling boobs until last year. And all of a sudden my hormones are throwing all night parties, binge-drinking, and puking all over the carpets. Suddenly, everything is making me go all super horny. I find myself attracted to loads more people than I used to be.

What. Ever.

Sorry for the pointless musings. I went in intending on telling you quickly about my day, and then musing about my Verloren, but I ended up just selfishly bitchin' about my hormones.

What a teenager, huh?

Wellz, to conclude about my day. Yeah. Cece bitched. We listened. I tried to convince her not to quit working at Moe Joe's-- it came out half whine/half giggle. Ooops. Volunteered to work at Moe Joe's. Applications- gone. Me- bereft.

Craig and I came back to the dorm. I cuddled with Tyler. I humped Tyler. We went to the library to finally do work. I couldn't concentrate in the library. We came to the Multicultural Lounge in Hendrix. Stalked various people on facebook. Finally decided to buckle down ad muse about my writing on my blog. Started writing. Got sidetracked.

And here we are.

This was not supposed to happen, but at least it got me into the flow of writing. Definitely let me loose. Now I'm going to go get some books from the library. I'll be back, and probably put the interesting notes in here, in a post that will actually make some headway.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my stupidity.

I know I did.

Yours, ever-faithful in lust,
Mei-Mei

The Beginnings of a Great Enterprise

Well, the prodigal Melissa has finally made her glorious return. The crowds holler in adulation. All bow to her greatness.

As you can see, I have made some changes. My goal here is to do what I said in my post months and months ago-- make this blog into the record of my journey from the earliest forms of brainstorming for my novel, to my theoretical publication. This, of course, may never happen... but hopefully if other people can follow my journey they can not only get to know me, but come to understand what life is like for a young writer hoping to one day have her humble words sold for millions. Mwahaha!

Meh. Enough of my posturing. Let me tell you how things are going to be from now on. Ahems-

I want to build a world from scratch. I want all of the characters, all of the ideas that have been stewing in my brain for 19 years to have a place to live. I like the idea of everything being interrelated; of being able to build a kind of mythology and history of a place. Kind of the way Tolkien operated, I guess, but I shy away from making that comparison. I used to be a huge Lord of the Rings fanatic (bless my wittle soul!) but I pretty much outgrew that by the last half of high school. Let's just say my period of addiction was brief but violent. Many hobbits perished. I was left in the aftermath, a thoroughly self-conscious, humiliated little thing. I DON'T want to be seen as emulating Tolkien. I don't want people associating me with him. Not anymore.

Just think of me as fantasy's answer to Victor Hugo. Oh, gods, I love that man. I've been rereading Les Miserables, and I still marvel at the way that man writes and plots. Orphans! Prostitutes! Convicts! Inspectors! Gypsies! Shady Innkeepers! Little Chimney Sweep Boys! Sexy, sexy, sexy... I love the way he develops all of his characters, from the major players to the nuns who show up for a couple of chapters and then are never heard of again. The way he describes them, like he really is this engaging historian who has investigated all of the circumstances and can't bear to leave any of his research out... yum. I love the richness of the text, full of allusions, historical references, political diatribes, lectures on culture, language, and geography. Excuse me as I orgasm several times. 'kay.

So, I'm really looking forward to doing the character development. I'm a psychology major, and my fiction has always been more character centric than anything else, so I shouldn't have any trouble coming up with a large and elaborate cast for my production. That will be my joy.

Trouble: setting. I've never been one for organized research, and this is going to take a whole lot of organization and work in areas that I don't particularly enjoy. Not that I hate it or anything, but the bulk of the research that I'm going to have to do is so staggering that whenever I think about it I feel like throwing up on someone and then committing suicide in some very painful manner. The main problem with my existence seems to be that I get easily intimidated by the prospect of doing lots of work, and then I never get started on it. Once I get started, it's all good. It's just getting my ass going that's the trouble.

My advice to myself: make it a fun routine. I know this could be fun. I do. It's like a mystery. A game. It's like the Sims, except instead of creating a world on my computer, I'm doing it in my head and on paper. And in the end it's going to be a lot more rewarding. How come I would willingly zone out for hours in front of a computer playing a game like Sims or Spore, but I won't do that for the sake of my art? Dumb, dumb Mei-Mei.

So, as far as my plan of attack goes... I am going to compose a map. Oh, the great tool of corny fantasy authors EVERYWHERE! I hate maps. Hate, hate, hate them. My spacial IQ is, like, 30 points lower than my average IQ. That gives you some idea of what is going to happen here. Misery. Death. Hell, several times over. But, once I get into it, I could actually enjoy it. If I make it. Which... arghh. Positive thinking, Mei-Mei. Be POSITIVE.

Which leads to............ the question I have been avoiding for four years. Yeesh. What kind of universe is this actually taking place in? For some time I have contended myself (and my writing classmates/teachers) with the answer: this sort of pseudo-Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-Universe where we have a place that's something like our historical Earth, except not. Because there are evil sea-creatures, and magic things, and whatnot. With a dash of His Dark Materials. Parallel universe would probably be a good description of the place... except... I've always had this idea that the world I have created is this world, but in the future. Except the future ends up being a step backwards. We end up trading our technology for magic stuffs. To a degree. I might allow a certain level of machinery into the mix... 19th century romanticized shit. Except it's powered by magic? See, haven't really made up my mind. At all.

But the question is: what happened? Why did the world go in this other direction? I need an explanation for this, pronto. And a quick, concise way to explain this to agents/editors if they ever come into the mix.

See, without this question answered, I can never develop a realistic culture for the present world. And without developing the setting, I don't have a home for my characters to populate. For a long time, I have been letting half-formed vapors resembling characters and storylines run around in my head. But they can't be solid, because they only live in this pseudo-world of my messed up, messed up brain. Like Victor Hugo's characters-- like any real human being-- their stories are going to be irrevocably tied to where they are. And if I don't know, they can't be. Especially since I'm writing a kind of political, military epic where characters travel around and are caught up in the conflicts of nations and societies. Great stuff. But unless I can create nations and societies, I have nothing.

So, for the next while, that's what my posts are going to be about-- my journey in discovering the world that all my future characters are going to inhabit. I want to find some kind of software I can use to make maps of the land... on as large of a scale as a continent, and as small as a street name. If I can't find a computer program, this work is going to be done in sketch books, which will be more difficult. Either way, I'm going to get the important stuff sketched, write the histories, develop the mythology, yadayadayada. After that, I'll focus more on character building, which will be waaay more fun once I don't have to wring my hands and try to fill in setting information as I go. Oi! Most of my countries, I think, are going to be based off of already existing ones- the Dutch and Russians are targets, definitely. The rest will be revealed in time. I'll have to do extensive research on those cultures, figure out what I want to keep, and what I want to discard. I have to come up with the laws for magic, which will be more fun than the other stuff for me.

So, I have my mission.

I debated extensively before writing this post about the name of my new world. For the longest time, it was just called "Earth." That was truthful, but not fun. My world deserves a fancy new name, because even if it is the same place as Earth, it's not the same. So I've named it Verloren; it means "lost" in Dutch. Sounds pretty cool. Why is it called that? I haven't a clue. I'll have to figure that out, along with a million other things, as I start my great enterprise.

Changing Gears

Greetings, members of the friendly blogosphere!

So, as you probably noticed, I've taken a brief hiatus from posting this week, and started thinking about what I really want this blog to do. I'm serious about getting an audience (and as of now, dear reader, I am skeptical as to your existence) and I don't think that prattling about things of little interest to anyone save myself is really going to do that for me. So I've decided that I'm going to start making this blog a more serious discussion about the craft of writing, literature, and the events in my life that have shaped me into the writer I am today. Of course, I will still remain my beautiful, witty, darling self- but with a little sense of direction.

So, I'm off to adjust the blog accordingly, and then I'll be back with... something.

Stay tuned, kids!