Title: Thought For The Day

Email: vampirelestat1@home.com

Fandom: Original

Summary : I've decided to try something new. These short entries will always have the same title, but of course, will be different thoughts. I'm entering two today to get the ball rolling. Please let me know what you all think

I was searching the web tonight and came upon a website very off the beaten path, if there is such a thing on the Internet. The website's for a movie called "Wired.." something. Damn, the second word just left me.

Anyhow, the movie was made for $5000, a healthy sum for what I imagine to be first film makers. I began to think about what I would do if someone offered me $5000 grand and said, "Give me some art of your own creation. I want a story, anyway you feel it's best told." I was wondering then what my first choice would be. Sure, I could shot in a film, especially a short one, under ten minutes that is, very easily for that amount. I could also write a very good novel since that money would allow the frugal person writing this to live simply for about 11 months without the need of further outside work. What would *I* do in such a set of circumstances? Right now, I would probably write the novel, as I've been submerging myself within the art of writing for about two or three years now. Later on, perhaps, I might be more inclined to write and direct a short. I've got one or two already written up which could easily be done within those conditions. I began then to wonder about my priorities. Do I see myself as a writer or a film maker or a little of both? I think all three can and do coexist. I think my perfect life would involve writing a book over the space of a year, once I get good enough to do one that quick that is, then seeing it go through adaptation to script then to movie land, all under my own direction, both literally and figuratively. I'm not usually one to give up creative freedom. One day I hope to be given this kind of opportunity. If only to prove to myself what I can do with a little help.

**

Laughter is the best medicine. It's been said before, but still deserves some reiteration. I was just today allowed the singular pleasure of reading a story with a fair dose of this magic elixir in it. As I was laughing at several parts, I was silently thanking the source for the trouble they went to for the chuckles. I don't remember the first time I laughed. Probably the first time my mother scratched at my chin or tickled me to get a reaction. I know I loved the sensation and always miss it. I'm not a natural comedian, so I can't think of anything that would make myself laugh. I used to watch Seinfeld occasionally just to get my laugh fix for the week.

I also saw more than a few episodes of "Duckman". Now, if no one else has had the pleasure of viewing that show, I believe you missing something. I once met a man who made me laugh almost to the point of crying. That was the best time I ever had crying, let me tell you that. He wasn't serious.

In fact, far from it, but he gave me the kind of release I needed. The man could go off on a comedy rant that ranks up there with Dennis Miller.

I found myself weeping, beating my hand on the table, hitting my leg, all sorts of things because of his humor. And, for one perfect moment, the

world seemed to be a little less of a let down. Man, how I miss that guy.

*

Does writing really need tons of rules? We have at our disposal tons of grammar-related books which teach us everything from how to properly use punctuation within quotations to how to properly dispense with the seldom-used (at least in my work) semicolon. Can true art really live within these restrictions? I tend to think it could. We've had many writers come before us who've used these to create wonderful worlds that challenge the imagination and delight the mind. But, when do rules start to stifle the system? I don't think the guidelines we have are too stifling, if they become instinct purely. If no conscious thought is there and the method becomes something more engrained, then there's nothing to stop us.

Nothing to stifle.

I do look at the book and marvel at the seemingly endless amount of structure and constraints put within the system, but also realize that, once I get through with even a small portion of the rules, there is a point. Someone once said art *can* be done within a given template. I agree with that.

*

Perfectionism.

Is perfectionism always a good thing? I face this because I have it. It brings me back to my stories time and time again. It forces me to work constantly to improve my self and my writing. What is also does is to put the standard up so high that I can never reach it. It gives my internal critic incredible ammo for trying to knock me out of whatever high I get due to some praise I've received. I've got depression. manic depression in part because of this sometimes rabid perfectionism. I feel sometimes as though I cannot enjoy things, simple things in life because of how much time I'm *not* working on my work, my writing or film making. It's a good thing, for my writing wouldn't be as good without it, but it's also a bad thing, as my depression wouldn't turn out as vivid without it.

****

I was at work today and was casually listening to the radio when a song lyric caught my ear. I can't remember what the song was, but the lyric had to with people being dead walking on the streets. Oh yeah, it was "Summer in the City". Got me thinking for quite awhile about this. I just thought about how most of my time outside my home finds me busy with something.

I hardly notice things that I pass. Hell, I might've passed some dead man on the way home, but didn't notice. Seems very sad to me that I've made my life this way. I could blame it on work or school or ambition, but I think it just has to do with laziness on my part. Never noticing the flower blooming or the sweet smell of barbecue. Hell, I've never even sat on the grass at school and read a book! Well, I don't really like school and there's no one I know up there to sit with, but that's not the point I'm making here. Life is something to be enjoyed, not just lived.

***

I was listening to a Nat King Cole song at work today about Love. Great subject to start a chain of thoughts in your head, I think. Anyway, the concept he was speaking of (can't remember the actual lyrics, sorry) was about Not Entering Love until you can love all the way. That got me, for some odd reason, thinking about love at first sight. Wondering about the idea of having your one shot at love pass away like the a beautiful flower without water. I wondered whether or not we do get only *one* chance at true love. Or do we have two? Or three? I know people who've have the proverbial lightning strike upwards of three times within a fifty year life span. It does a depressing bit on my heart to think that God would only give me one chance in 6 billion to find my soul mate. Personally, I think love does only come a few times in one's lifetime, but that doesn't mean there's only type of love that can kindle the passions of a romantic heart. I think that reasoning may account for the vast amount of second and third marriages I've seen in my life. Love maybe a bright shining star (sorry for the cliché), but there exists many different stars in our galaxy. The thing is to find the truest love to you.

One the second (or maybe first) statement about love at first sight. I don't think it could happen. It might, I don't know. Love takes time to grow. It always will. Maybe it's the cynic in me coming out like a the ugly middle of the flower after it blooms, but to admit that love at first sight exists is to admit that the *can* be a perfect love. That love is the love people long. The love of quiet moments when all that needs to be there is the person breathing next to you. This makes me think about the recent film "What Dreams May Come." where Williams' character goes to Hell to find his wife, his soul mate, and decides to stay there, in Hell, to be with his wife. That's the kind I'm talking about. I don't know if that exists, but wouldn't it be a grand idea. That kind of power encased in one emotion.

*

I was watching "Forever Young" just now. You know, the one with Mel Gibson and Jamie Lee Curtis. This isn't the first time I'd seen it, though, but that's not the point of this. The point of this is how really interesting it is to me how we, as humans, can find so much feeling in some particular spot. Say someone had invited their potential mate to a dinner in order to pop the big "M" question. That spot would have special meaning, even many years after the event. I remember many times where I'd go back to Junior High when classes where over. I'd sit in the chair I sat in when I was in some particular class with my former teacher standing in front of me. Memories drained from my subconscious and filled my mind with a vividness hardly knowable outside such encounters. I look at people and see them sitting, doing something like this, and it almost always catches my mind, the few times I've seen it, that is. They could close their eyes and see the event as though it were happening just a moment ago. There is such a power in one spot sometimes that the memory can only be retrieved by the mind through the sights, smells, the feeling of the wood on the table. One day, when I go out of this city and then come back to this computer or one similar, I'm sure to get a feeling roughly equivalent to that gotten by others from their particular spot.

***

I wonder whether or not ideas are always hidden behind other, worse ones. You can often write the best stuff after writing some of your worst work. Does each thought have its own twin and equally opposing idea that remains dominant until it's let shine? Would that mean that good ideas are submissive at first until they get out in the open?

I was just told about how you can often write about something larger, such as liberty or homeless, by starting out on something simpler, such as rock or a brick. This, to me, would mean that the ideas are always there, hidden under a blanket of often irelevant thoughts. This seems very reasonable to me. I wonder if psychology or psychiatry has a term or condition that includes this because it seems like a special mind condition. Because thoughts themselves are often disjointed in the mind, perhaps they find themselves wanting companionship or even just an anchoring pin to help them.

***

I was at work today and noticed married couples doing their business. While this certainly isn't a new thing for me to see, I did take notice for some reason. Perhaps it had to with this series I've been doing. Who knows.

Anyway, I was thinking about all the people I hear about in real life having problems with their marriages. I don't pretend to understand the intricacies of marriage because I'm not married. The things I know about it are quite limited, mostly romantic ideas. The union of two souls, the need humanity has of finding someone to be with them for the remainder of their life after going to the alter. I would love to find this kind of happiness some day, but, being the cynic that I am, I doubt I could trust someone will the wild abandon marriage would entail. I've got some barriers which I think would prevent a lot of this. Marriage is a sacred union, yes, but also one which must be entered with full, to my eyes, trust on either side.

Love is probably the most mysterious emotion to me and that may effect how I determine my chances of finding it in others. To be able to find some best friend, whether it be male or female, seems very distant to me. I've lived for several years as though I'm alone and a bachelor, so I don't know if I'll be able to let someone in on that level.

***

I was just thinking while I saw Girl, Interrupted tonight whether or not writing is something that needs to be schooled into someone. I know that writing can't be taught like math. People who aren't born with some writing ability can't do this. What I wish to know...or rather what I guess I was thinking was whether or not those people who go off to Europe or something and live really had something there. Do I really need to spend time in a class to learn this craft? I know that the teacher and those in favor of this would probably give me the argument about having someone there who's paid to go over my stuff. That's a really good argument, in my opinion. Maybe that's enough. I can learn as much on a mailing list, sending things in and having someone go over and tell me this or that, but wouldn't having more of those someones around to do this be good, too. The professor's sole job is to tell me what they think about my work. Sometimes, I get a professor who really lets into me with their opinion. That's good. All-in-all, I think I should stay in school. If for no other reason than to enjoy the company of some other writers around there.

****

Love is the shattering wound of my soul. I can well imagine a time without it, though I should never hope to see it. How odd that I can see something so vividly, but never realize the fruits of the struggle. I am but one man, but that man stills needs what everyone desires. I sit upon in a lonely place and look out through the window of desire and see pictures of people prancing around, frolicking as though the world were witin their seashell at the moment. I can feel only pain, but a pain which is tempered with reality. And that reality is what keeps me out of the deluge.

***

I enjoy myself looking to the unknown. If fact, most of my stories deal with the life after this death. To me, there is no end after death, but rather a beginning. A beginning of whatever happens over there. Spiritualists. mostly Christians, have had this notion for quite some time about a spiritual battle that happened, is happening, or will happen over on the "other side". Being with the realm of fantasy and not being set upon to create worlds that are always fully understandable allows me to inhabit fully these subjects with a liberality that doesn't seek to emcumber my own sense reality. Because, as you've sao aptly said, reality is us inverted to fit the world we live in.

****

Midnight, the time when passion arises from the ash of the sun. I can write more after midnight usually then before, mostly because of how unfocused I am before the magic hour. I usually sift through about 200 e-mails a day, getting time only for writing when my passion for outward communication is dampened for a time.

Of course, to me, midnight doesn't carry the same resonance it does for others. To some it's literal. To me, though, it's that way, it's not midway through the night. I wish that the inventors of the day would've put the middle of the night more like 1:00 AM or 2 because that seems more like it to me.

Why do we, as writers, find that early morning or late at night, psychologically within the same period I believe, releases more artful energy? Most people I know tell me either that they find the most thoughts and ideas spring forth from their mind in the midst of the time between 12:00 AM and 6 or 7 AM. This fact has always interested me, but it's not until just about now that I've begun to really think about it. "LIfe begins at 2 AM." read a tagline to a movie recently. I think they should shift in back two hours. That's when a lot of creativity, the kind very focused and directed towards one goal, comes out.

***

Light brings cures toward the inevitable gloom. I can only say that the gloom represents my salvation because through it I know hope. How odd, eh? Depression brought my writing abilities out. Why would I hope to end it all now? I look in my mirror and see something no one else does yet. I see the waiting desolation of my mind in order to project the "one true sentence". I see not only what I am but also what I want to be. I see stories, the many-tiered heights of poetry imagination and, with a measure of will power, the truest insights I have. I see that I can defy the odds and become what I want. I do see hope, but it's surrounded by gloom in between me and it. That gloom will bring many fruits.

****

Does creativity spawn for a limited fountain? Are we, as creators, allowed only a certain portion of the water from that spring to dampened the dusty ideas from our skulls and allow them to flow as a river from our minds and out into the world? I often wonder if, when I get an idea and don't write it down, whether God will simply go on to the next person in the chain and allow them access to it. That's why I write ideas down.

Personally, I don't think creativity is like that. If it was, how would we get so many ideas throughout the day? Unless the spring's fairly abundant, showering the world with fluid for a hundred thousand year, people on earth would've run out of ideas quickly. One could argue we have, within the context of the earthly realm. We have come to a time, and this maybe due to the millenuim, where people tend to write more about life after death. I most assuredly do. The concept alone imbues me with anxious energy. What lies out there? Can we even get a grasp on it before our short time upon the spinning orb in done? I'd like to think so.

****

Just got done about two minutes ago reading William Gibson's Neuromancer.

I think one of the biggest things I realized with this book is that poetry and prose should be intergrated. Strangely, I never thought about that before. The way Gibson uses his words reminded a lof of poetry. He has a wonderful way with his words, though he lost me lots of times with his descriptions, mostly when he described the intecasies of computers and Artifical Inteligence. The thing I plan to do now with my own work, my novel especially, is to write some poetry based upon the scene. See what lines come out of it. Poetry is like the melody. Even without the addition of something musical to it, it still sounds, reads, and is sometime understood through a musical license. I wonder if that isn't one reason why poetry in particular can help awaken those lines from our head in a way that prose writing cannot. Perhaps it is through the unregimented nature that inhabits poetry the writer mind can be free the most.

One of the other things I noticed about Gibson is economy. Since the book, the one I have at least, registers at 271 pages, it's a fairly quick read. Gibson doesn't fragment off with his words the way an Anne Rice or someone like that can. He doesn't give long, in-depth paragraphs about the computer or technology in question. Perhaps he does in other works, but not this one.

It just amazes me how complicated the story is. I'll probably have to sift through this one yet again after awhile. I have only about two other books I have to do that with and I can't remember the titles off hand. Gibson may just end up being the first author I really get into as a mentor, a particular writer who finds me digging in his turf for ways of alligning words. Now I understand what all that hype about Gibson is about. I haven't had this much come out of a book and into my cerebrum since I read Fight Club by Chuck Palahnuik. It's a sunny day when this kind of mind bending happens!

****

I was once wondering about reality. Sifting my way through the backyards of civilization, looking into the spyglass of time. Wondering if I'd found it, the little nugget of imagination that created all this from the voice of God. I know most think that this "reality" isn't made up, but does that majority opinion hold in light of so much writing and producing to the contrary. Does fiction itself, with enough portions delegated out to those with vision enough to use, become a part of reality at some point? Since many things contain messages and these messages become scripture to people, can those messages transcend the idea of fiction, the idea of the world created by the author and verge into reality and begin to corrupt it? Interesting notion, I think. One which I don't know if I'd like all that well, though. Some ideas aren't meant for this our world. Somethings are just meant to stay within the bounds of fiction, regardless of how much of those ideas are inspired by real life.

I dream each night just like the rest of the population and listen vaguely to those soothersayers who claim to be able to read them like paper in front of them. But, can something like that be imprinted within something so limiting and regimented as the scientific method? I don't think so, but I'm obviously no expert at dream reading, though I've thought for quite some time had odd of an occupation reading those mind images would be. I once had a dream where I was sitting at a table at school and suddenly found myself talking to John Woo, a famous director I admire. Does this mean anything? I don't know. Maybe that I will be within reaching distance to sit in the pantheon of famous directors. I don't know. I could see whatever I wished in it, but does that make it reality? Maybe. My reality at that moment, if nothing else. All this is is simply one person's thought about what they took.

=30=