The hardest part

                The hardest part of being a writer is when the words don’t come. When the hands can’t hold the pencil, and the fingers can’t type. When the mind is too full to focus on words, and you just want to shut down. When you just want to sleep. The hardest part of being a writer is the writing. The writing kills you. It bleeds your soul out onto the page for the entire universe to see, and then it leaves you. Empty.

                The hardest part of being a writer is when you don’t want to be a writer. When you just want to run away from your thoughts and cares and worries. When the whole entire world is arrayed against you, telling you it can’t be done. The hardest part of being a writer is being a writer. Being a writer leaves you lonely, with naught but your thoughts for company. Thoughts that can kill you. Thoughts that can rebirth you.

                The hardest part of being a writer is accepting a blank page as it is. Some days a blank page is what you need. Sometimes a blank page is not defeat. Sometimes it’s a respite. The hardest part of being a writer is seeing the point of it all. When the weight of the world is crushing you down, and you just need a break from it all.

                The hardest part of being a writer is carrying on. And yet, carrying on is all we can do. Sometimes, the hardest part of being a writer is simply being.  

A clearer understanding

                I suppose this blog is getting a little confusing with the constant switching between short stories and more essay like pieces, isn’t it? Maybe I should put a little warning in the titles? Or you could all just suck it up and deal with it. I kinda like that option, ngl.

                As I detailed, in a slightly fictionalized way, the lack of creativity and imagination in my writing was wearing me down. I was becoming more and more jaded with things, and, as I said, I was no longer seeing the beauty in the world. There were no more vibrant colours to excite my eyes, instead everything was dull and grey and pointless. Ever since I started making myself write more short fictions, I have been feeling more alive, and more engaged.

                For people who don’t write, this can be hard to understand, but writing isn’t just a way to make a living, or a way of life: it is life. Writing gives us (writers) meaning, it gives us reasons to wake up in the morning. Writing makes us feel good, and it helps us to feel better. You’ll hear a lot of writers talk about stress from writing, and while true, we also alleviate that stress by writing more! Sometimes, to deal with the stress from writing, all it takes is to write something else.

                That was my problem. My writing was stressing me out, but I wasn’t changing gears. I just kept grinding away, getting more and more worn out, until I got to the point where writing had become a chore and not something I enjoyed. The feeling of loss I felt at that revelation is nigh indescribable. One of the things I loved most in the world had suddenly become something that I did not want to do. So it became this exercise that I forced myself to do, day in day out, all the while growing more and more disillusioned with the whole system, and with myself.

                I was watching the world burn down in front of my eyes, and instead of getting water I stepped into the flames, thinking that I would be able to make a difference that way. As we all know, stepping into a flame only gets you burnt. I planted my flag in this war and thought I could win by fighting and not by guiding. Surely those masses would see the error of their ways through my glorious and inspiring words!

                What a fool I was.

                Instead of uniting people, all I did was give them another target. Soon people I was once respected and admired, wrongly, had me in their sights. The insults and slurs started pouring in, the threats of violence and the threats of death hidden in between.

                And all the more tired and disillusioned I became.

                My words became bitter and infused with a forced false sense of hope. My words became cutting, and, in becoming cutting, lost their edge. I lost my true focus and tried to write what I thought people wanted me to write, instead of writing what I needed to write.

                But what did I need to write?

                I needed to write my truth. I needed to create stories and parables that led people, and guided them to final goals. I needed to write things that didn’t just bash people over the head with truth, but showed the truth.

                This is not to say that the blunt posts are not relevant or important, they are! I only mean that I needed to expand back into what I used to write. Stories and tales were my home. Weaving threads together to create a tapestry that inspires is my greatest gift.

And I had abandoned it.

It took nearly destroying myself and my creativity to pick it back up.

Now that I have, I will fight to not let it go again. 

Gettin' Real

     There are days when I find it extremely hard to think of a topic for this. I know that whenever I write about asexuality I will get views, but I don't want to limit myself to only writing on that subject. I've written posts that I feel are superb, yet they have minimal views. My post yesterday got a solid amount of views, which was honestly surprising. I assumed that it would attract an insignificant amount of attention. I'm glad that I was wrong. But, that's not the issue here, not really. The issue boils down to a choice: do I only write what I know people will read and share, or do I write what I want to?
       The logical side of me says to write what others want, so that they will want to read what I want to write. Basically establish an audience first, then roll out the content. It makes sense. If I get enough people regularly reading what I'm writing, even if I'm just writing what they want, then that audience (mostly) will stick around when I start writing what I want to. Sure, I may lose some people, but at least I'll have an established fan base!
       The other side, the free creator side, says to write and create what you want to. Don't pander to the masses just to feed your ego. Writing what other people want you to write just for the sake of views isn't really writing at all. It's boring homework. Writing what others want me to write has always been a sore spot for me. It goes against who I am to write things simply because it's what others want of me. I like writing on asexuality, do not get me wrong, I just don't want that to be all I write on. I'm not trying to say that I would start writing rightist or leftist propaganda just to get views. That really is not who I am. I had extremely conservative professors at university who gave me failing marks on my papers because I wasn't conservative enough, and I had a lot of people tell me "just give them what they want". I couldn't. It would have been a lie. And it wouldn't have reflected me as a person. I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had sold out to make some old, close minded people happy. Creatively, morally, spiritually, I want to write what I want to write. Because writing is personal. No matter what it is that is being written, it is a personal project.
       Logically, if I had given those profs what  they wanted, I would've had an easier go of it. As an actor, I could have viewed it as an acting exercise. But that still would've been a lie. Do I regret not giving those profs what they wanted? No. And yes. Of course I wish I could've had an easier time with those professors, but it wouldn't have been worth selling my soul for.
       Obviously, this isn't quite the same. I am in control of all the content that gets posted under my brand. I like writing about asexuality, I like writing about other stuff. I just have to decided if I am okay with only writing about one subject I care about in exchange for consistently good views, or writing about all the subjects I care about in exchange for wildly erratic views. Not so much selling my soul, as locking part of it up. Or, to use a more relevant metaphor, keeping part of myself in the closest so that people like me.
        Damn, that last sentence got real.   

Kinda everything

      I'm planning on writing some skits soon. Just some basic, easy to shoot stuff using one or two actors. I have a couple ideas already loosely based on real life thoughts and events, including one on the--wait. Nope, y'all have to wait and see. I'm not going to leak my own ideas online. Goodness. That said, I am super excited to start acting again. It has been far too long since I last acted in any professional or even amateur sense.
      I'm going to start banging out a script tonight hopefully, and start filming later this week! The vlogs won't be set aside for this project, the skits will be done in addition to the vlog.
      I'm pretty happy with the things I've been doing in regards to filming. I filmed my first multi-camera shoot Saturday morning, and I edited it last night. I think it looks pretty sharp. Admittedly, it was of pretty boring subject matter, but I didn't want to try anything too intense for my first time. And yes, that means that all of those tracking shots of me walking from different angles and locations were all filmed with one camera. And with me doing the same things over and over again. Just for the sake of a cool scene. I'm pretty much a real filmmaker guys.
       Actually, I am a real filmmaker, just not a professional one. Yet. I mean, it took thirteen years to become a professional writer. Granted, nine of those years I was in some form of school, and I didn't start actively trying to get published until a few months ago... BUT! I have thirteen years of practice before I started trying to get published. I only have six months practice with filming. I don't know where this paragraph is going. This is what happens when all your blog posts go up without editing or forethought! Yeah! Don't worry, I edit the professional stuff, the blog is just raw though.
       When I was a kid, I always wanted to be on television and in movies, and I still do. With filming and uploading to my channel on a regular basis, I am, in a way, accomplishing that dream in part. I don't have a huge audience in any way, but I am being watched by people all over the globe. It's amazing. I'm going to lie, that first time seeing myself on my friend's tv as he watched my vlog was pretty cool. I was literally seeing myself on somebody's television! In something had been edited! The feeling of accomplishment, however slight, is euphoric.
        I look and see where I am, right at this very moment, and I am amazed. I'm amazed with what I have accomplished in the six months since I've started vlogging. How much my filming techniques have improved, how much my editing has improved, and how much I've improved. I'm in a much better headspace now, and I'm much more confident now than I've been in a long time. I don't think I would've submitted any of my writing to anyone, if I hadn't started vlogging, and I definitely would not have taken my first few rejection letters as well as I did.
       This started off as me talking about skits... Maybe I should start planning these out. Naw. They're going to stay raw. I like em like this. 

I'M A PROFESSIONAL WRITER AND I USE CAPS LOCK

Okay. Okay. Okay. I've calmed down sufficiently to actually type this. I have phenomenal news. Soon after I published my last blog, my editor got back to me. She loved my article. She loved it so much that instead of being online only, she has decided to print it as well! And I was supposed to be in an unpaid testing period, to see how will I fit in with the magazine and my editor. That's been scrapped. I'm getting paid for my article, and I've been added to their writing staff!
     I am now a professional writer. In every sense of the word. Getting paid to write has been my dream since elementary school, and now that dream is a reality! I have literally had one of my dreams come true. It's mind blowing. I could barely process it! I still can barely process it and it's almost been a week. I am a professional writer. After all the rejection letters, all the times I got knocked down and pushed aside, it's finally happening.
      I... I am so overwhelmed with emotions. I don't really know how to describe the amounts of sheer joy I felt, and still feel, when I read that email. I felt like I was floating. Like I was invincible. After all the hits I've taken over the past few years, I felt like I could do anything after reading that email. I read interviews from fellow writers talking about how long and hard they worked to get to where they are today, and I never thought that I would actually be able to call them my peers. If it was so hard for these people, who make up the pantheon of authors, how could I ever hope to be published? How could I ever even be on the lowest rung of that ladder to authordom. Yet here I am.
       I know a lot of negative people are out there who would belittle this accomplishment, who would tell me that it's just a magazine out of Winnipeg for the queer community. And ya know what? I'm sorry for those people. I'm sorry that they are so sad with their lives that they feel the need to belittle and degrade the accomplishments of others just to feel alright with themselves. And I know this feels a little off being added here, but I feel like I should just cover all the bases. So if you're reading this, and you feel like saying anything negative, just know that I feel sorry for you, and that I'm not going to care. Also, you can go--nope. I'm going to be nice.
      Thank you, to all of you who have believed in me, and have supported me along this crazy journey. To my parents who read and edited all the short stories I wrote in elementary and junior high, to the English teachers who have encouraged my writing since day one, to my friends who have put up with tuning them out because I had an idea and needed to get it down, to my sister Kat for always supporting me, and to everyone else, thank you. I wouldn't be celebrating this accomplishment without you. Thank you, and I love you.
       I'm expecting all of you to read it. And everything else I write.
      Also to subscribe to my channel: Zakitude Vlogs.  

I did it

     I sent my article in today. I feel... good. I think. I feel good about it. I've been focusing on it in all of my spare time lately, so I haven't had time to post here. I hope it was worth it. I think it was. I'm happy with the way it turned out. I  may have tweaked the conclusion a little more, but overall I feel good about it.
     I was so nervous about it this morning. I printed it off and went over it again and made a few last minute edits. My hands were shaking a little as I went to pick it up from the printer, and I just sat and stared at it for a while. The dreaded red pen, sitting menacingly beside the crisp white paper. My mind was racing, my pulse pounding. What if it was absolute shit? What if I used all the wrong pronouns? What if I messed up on everyone's names? What if, this is the big one, I found out I was a fraud? What if I was a terrible writer? Finally, I slowly picked up the pen and went to work.
    I only made a few changes. Took some phrases out, changed some sentence structure. Nothing earth shattering. I was alright. I saved it under a new name, and I sent it off.
    And now I'm just waiting to hear back, and that is a whole other story. 

Progress for progress sake

    I started working on the body of my article today. I've got it planned out, and quotes chosen, and now it's time to get to work! I'm starting with two less interviews than I planned, and one less than I would like, but my deadline is coming up, and I need to get it done. It's been awhile since I've worked with a word count, it's going to take some extreme editing to keep it around my mark and not wildly over. Contrary to these blog posts, I can be relatively long winded... You're all surprised, I'm sure. Shocked even.
    I showed a friend of mine what I have so far, and she's hooked and excited to read the rest of it! And because of my ego, I'm not going to let anyone else read it in case they tell me it sucks. Other than my editor, because she has to read it before it's published... Maybe I can work out a system where I'm the writer and the editor, and the publishers okay with it. Alas, such a system does not exist and probably should never actually be a thing.
      As I'm working on this article there are a ton of conflicting feelings going through me. I've never been this stressed about something I've written, and I've never been this excited about something that I'm writing! One of my biggest dreams could come true because of this article! And that is so exciting! And one of my biggest dreams could crash and burn because of this article, and that is so stressful.
    I know I have the support of a lot of people, and not just those closest to me! I know the people whom I have interviewed are backing me up to. They want their stories told, they think that it can help people, and they are trusting me to get it out there. It's an incredible feeling.

Incoherent Ramblings and a Short Story

        My post yesterday has been one of my more popular ones so far. That's pretty cool. But today I have a major headache, so don't expect anything too profound. Just a little bit of profoundity. That's totally a word, don't worry about looking it up. Trust me, I 'm a person who says things on the internet for... not a living? 

       I've noticed a huge difference in numbers compared to my vlog and my blog. Which is weird to me, because I promote my vlog way more than this. That being said, watch my vlog: youtube.com/user/shran100. I think it's pretty good every now and then. 

       As I said, I have a massive headache right now, and feel like crap. 

      Ok. Alright. Let's do this thing.

      I joined a couple groups and liked a couple pages on Facebook about asexuality, and I have started my own specifically for Canadian aces! You can find at: facebook.com/canadianaces! Go check it out and become a member! Lets create a thriving online community for Canadian Aces! And a safe one of course. 

     Apparently this post doesn't have a coherent theme, Or an incoherent one. 

     I'm trying to force myself to post daily on here, simply because it's a good writing exercise. I usually enjoy it, and I usually have something to say, but between my head pounding and pets I can't focus on anything at all. Maybe today will be a short post. Or!!! I can cheat today! Here's a short story entitled "Mondays":

Mondays, man, Mondays. I’d say that they’re the bitch of the week, but that’s not PC anymore. This whole politically correct thing has really toned down what I can call things. I don’t know…

            Monday! Mondays suck righteous balls. Now, I know everyone “hates” Mondays, and that a fat cat in the 70s made it cool to do so, but come on. Are Mondays really that bad?

            Yes. Unequivocally yes.

            “But James,” you say, “why are Mondays so bad? Wouldn’t any other day be just as bad?” Now, this is a really odd thing to say, especially since my name isn’t James. It’s Todd. How fricking hard is that? Is fricking PC? Can I say that? Oh well.

            But since you asked so politely, even though you called me James, I will answer the question with a story. Not a short concise answer, you guys are jerks so you get a story.

            It was seven years ago, on this very day—ok, ok, so it wasn’t exactly seven years ago, this is for dramatic effect ya knobs—that I, Todd Matheson esq., experienced the worst Monday in human history since the one where Joan of Arc decided to take a walk outside. Don’t ask, again it’s for dramatic effect. I, Todd Matheson esq., was at school.

            My school was a dreary place full of squares trying to be circles, if you catch my drift. There were the rich hippies on one side, and the poor snobs on the other. And the stoners. Every school ever has the stoners who just don’t give a single flying flip. And since the stoners don’t care, this is the last time I’m going to mention them. Heh, stoners. Wait. I wasn’t supposed to mention them again. I lied to you, and for that I am truly sorry.

            My school was mega lame, that’s what I’m getting at. And this particular Monday was even lamer than the all the others.

            This was the Monday that I died.

            Man that would be a terrible Monday. Obviously I’m not dead. But damn, that sounded hella cool.

            Anyways, this Monday started off as a normal, boring Monday. I got off the bus, breathed in the fresh, yet slightly toxic from decades of pollution, air, and promptly fell on my face. The juniors literally walked on me to get off the bus. To top it off, my crush, the babeilicious Jeannette, saw everything.

            I walked into the school, my appearance and soul sullied and humbled from my tumble. Rhymes are cool. Crestfallen, I, Todd Matheson esq., put my things into my locker and continued on with my day.

            I’m not going to bore you with the deets of my morning, ya’ll aren’t that big of jerks, so let’s skip ahead to lunch.

            Mexican Mondays, not to be confused with Taco Tuesdays and Taquito Thursdays, was a cafeteria favourite. There was a build your own fajita stand (wrap, lettuce, cheese, mystery meat, questionable salsa, and three week old peppers), and chili with rice. I made my favourite Monday meal, a fajita with cheese and chili, and headed to my table full of other like-minded denizens of the school. We were the nerds, alright. Just be cool. God. As I travelled through the perilous and fragrant hippie controlled lands, something dreadful happened. Truly dreadful. I was full of dread. Or the dirty hippie who tripped me was. Ha. Oh. I should explain. The guy had dreads. Which led me to making that dreadful pun. I’ll let myself out.

            I tripped over his foot like Paula Deen tripping over her mouth. I flew forward. But in a slightly downward trajectory. I landed face first on my chili fajita. Meat and beans flew out, splattering all near me. If anything, it improved their smell, and they should’ve thanked me. Instead they literally tossed me out the door.

            I spent the rest of the day, covered in dried chili. With every gulp of air, all I got was chili. Every breeze gently wafting past me held the dubious honour of smelling like chili.

            And then the literally worst thing to ever happen, happened. Like. This was an extinction level event. The babeilicious Jeanette came up to and told me that she felt bad for me. And then. Oh boy. Oooooh booooyy. And then she kissed me. Right on the old mouth hole. That sounds weird. She kissed me right on the lips. And as she pulled away, she gave me a little smile and said, “I’ve always liked chili.” She winked and walked away.

            My first kiss, and I was coated in beans.

            And this is why Mondays are the absolute worst of all time.

            What do you mean that’s a stupid reason?  

Narcissism and Art

     I said yesterday that art and narcissism go hand-in-hand, and I'm here today to explain this probably controversial theory.
     Controversial, that is, to anyone who is not a serious artist, or that invested in the art community.
     Art takes many forms: the various types of painting, sculpting, drawing, writing, poetry, game design, theatre, film, television, etc.. It is all art. What drives all artists, no matter the genre, is the burning belief that they have something to share with the world. They believe that there are people out in the wide world that are interested in what they are creating, and will invest their precious time, and even more precious money, into consuming those creations.

     The average person doesn't think that way. The average person doesn't behave so selfishly to make people spend money on something that could boil down to ink and pulp. But artists do. 

I'm an artist. I believe that there are people who want to read what I write, who want to watch what I film and perform, and I believe that there are people who will experience profound emotions upon experiencing my various works.
     Hell, I'll be extra honest: I know that people will experience emotional revelations from my work.      Because I experience emotional revelations from my work. And if I can experience something like that from the art that I myself have created, I know that other people will. People always experience emotions from something new.
     To be successful in these fields, and I am no where near a success (I will be), you need that undying belief to be able to put yourself in the line of fire. You need to believe that what you are creating is important. Without that belief, whatever you have created will sit on a shelf gathering dust until one of your descendants finds it long after you are dead.
     This insane belief that people want what you're creating helps to deal the stress too, because being an artist, especially at the start of a career, is one of the most stressful things you can do. You know that what you're creating is important and groundbreaking, but is the rest of the world intelligent enough to realize it? Is the rest of humanity advanced enough to realize what is happening? These things are impossible to know until you finally take that leap of faith.
     Devoting your life to your art is a daunting prospect. One that I am facing right now. I know that authors face rejection on a daily basis, I know that many authors struggle for years before they get their first break. Do I have the mental fortitude to do this?
     I'm not a confidant person. I have very low self-esteem. Except when it comes to my work. To my art. I don't give a fuck about what you say about me, but as soon as you mock my art, I will end you. My art is my child. It is what I am proud of in this life. It is what brings me joy. It is what truly allows me to be myself. To be free and escape from the capitalist hellhole that is modern life.
I know that my art is important to the world. I know that the stories I'm going to tell are going to make a difference in people's lives. I know that what I create will be important.
     These beliefs, coupled with the confidence in one's art, is a type of narcissism. A very necessary type. I never argue with people when they call me a narcissist, I simply agree. 

Writing a Memoir: Day ?

Ok. So, I am currently writing a memoir.
Which may be insane considering how low the views are on both my vlog and here on my blog. But I'm doing it anyways. Why? Because I am a damn good writer, and some parts of my life may help people with parts of their lives.
How? You ask condescendingly.
Because my life has been filled with a billion ups and downs and twists and turns, you ass. I've been mega religious, I've felt betrayed by the people I've trusted, I've lied to myself about my sexuality and gender, and I've come (in the process) to terms with who I am. No one is more qualified to write this story than I am, and no one wants it published more than I do.
Do you know what the benefits would be to have an asexual author publish their memoir would be? It would bring asexuality into the mainstream. It would educate the masses on its very existence! It would help those poor youth who think they're broken realize that there is nothing at all wrong with them, and my god I would look good on a book jacket. Have you seen some of my selfies? They're basically calling out for a book jacket to call home!
I'm only 4000 words into this thing, and I'm already getting emotional.
And I need to remember to post here. Because this is helpful. And brings in the views. And money? Anyone wanna give me money? No? Okay...