08/02/2002 - 8:59 p.m.

The days of wine and roses are distant days for me.

I watched the opening of the Olympics, kind of sort of. It wasn't that bad, it looked terrible on television, commercials and all, but not really that bad. The "Fire Within" interperative skating sounded cheesy but was actually really cool.

It reminded me of all those stories about kids who do amazing and impossible things and save the world. The kind of stuff I wish I could believe in, except that the world is too rational for Magic. It doesn't work anymore. I seriously don't believe that The Chronicles of Narnia could be written now. (And then Scholastic fiddled with the book order, bastards, CS Lewis had The Magician's Nephew last for a reason!)

Of course, when it comes to fantasy, I'm harsh. I know that. I expect there to be some underlying thought put into things. I love the idea that Tolkien knew just exactly what was going on, had all those maps, knew so much about his subjects. I wouldn't even begin a fantasy novel today without deciding on the history behind it, but then, that's me. I either just sit down and write, or spend more time on the thought process than the actual writing (which mostly confuses me).

Of late, I've been trying to write, and just keep trashing things. Nothing seems quite good enough. I'm going through another phase where everything seems coloured or overshadowed by other things I've read and seen. It's next to impossible to come up with something completely original, but I'm trying. The problem is, I can manage to try and twist my brain 'round to thinking in different ways, but I can't make myself write well in those conditions.

The most writing I've done really is this here. I'd like to update some more Shakespeare, except that it's sort of a pain in the ass, and everyone knows what it is when they see it coming. I'm trying to write narrative, but it's not very good. At the moment, my harshest critic is myself, too. Maybe if I could get some that wasn't me... Except that would mean people would have to read my stuff.

Thinking about it December-March are not good times for my writing. There's usually too much going on that requires my attention and not enough time to do it in.

Finding criticalness for things is what makes me check out review sites. I've got one in mind that I'll try after my birthday. I'd like to get a week or so past that, I think and then do it.

Really, I'm worrying because writing is what I'm planning on doing with myself. I think that's what it will be. Not because it has to be, but because that's what I need it to be. I've been fighting this with myself for so long, and I guess it's just time that I faced facts and realised that this was something I could do. Something that didn't fill me with pain (frustration and anxiety from time to time), which, you know, that's not a bad thing.

I just, really don't want to be remembered as "the writer" for Thespians. I don't know why. I don't want that to be my senior award. Don't want that with a passion. I have no idea what else they might come up with, but, not that. I'm not really all that comfortable explaining it to the world yet, I guess. For something that requires deep "emotion" and "openness", I'm certainly not willing to share it with everybody yet. Well, I wouldn't mind if other people did, but I don't want to.

Subtley is something that I'm too good at. I'm too subtle, well, maybe I mean cryptic instead- I think everyone else will get it, but really it's just me. Half the stuff I write is terribly and embarrasingly cryptic, Milton's two-handed engine. I sometimes write to people and feel like I'm dropping hints about like great boulders, but then they write back and- nothing. I guess they don't pick it up, either that or they do and have nothing to say to it. That hurts.

This is completely and totally unrelated, but somebody asked me this today and I've only just come up with an answer. If you could have one movie title to describe your life, what would it be? I think I'd go with Never Been Kissed, not the movie, just the title. It just came to me from no where. The question came about because of Brandy going on about her prom dress (since I'm not attending, I don't have to worry, thankfully) and then we got on the subject of her likeness to Russian nesting dolls- there's lots in there, you just have to get it out. If she had to be a metaphor, that would be her metephor. I would be the Dr. Who Tardis, it's kind of odd looking little thing on the outside, but inside it's an enormous, highly sophisticated machine, even if every now and then it does break down and end up in E space. Well, that being my metaphor, my movie title is then Never Been Kissed.

Brandy and I have conversations like this a lot.