Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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I got bones beneath my skin mister, there's a skeleton in every man's house.

I saw the film "Adaptation" yesterday and it was stupendous. It was enormously entertaining but more importantly it spoke about writing and the creative process more intimately and more meaningfully than perhaps any film before it ever has.

I wouldn't condesend to try to explain the film here, I almost think it's a movie that can only be explained by itself, one that defies true summary or description because it consists largely of the process of describing itself.

I would like to talk about what the movie made me think about though, since during the course of the actual film itslef I had to struggle back my thoughts to allow myself to drink in what was on the screen in front of me. Oftentimes I allow myself an inner monologue during the viewing of a film, but this time I did not because I wanted to drink in what was on the screen before me. I haven't even analyzed the movie yet...and perhaps I won't. I may just wait for the DVD so that I can run through it repeatedly and don't have to worry about wasting time I could be using to savor the performances and the words.

Anyway, what the film really made me think about was writing. What a fascinating and difficult process it is and how dangerous yet intoxicating it can be. Writing has been on my mind a fair amount recently, it was the only one of my new years resolutions last year that I didn't at least make a good faith effort to complete, and this movie really brought home a lot of how I've been feeling about it.

If I am to be truly honest with myself then I must admit that I do still want to write. Not in the way that I used to, not with an unfocused and ill-defined desire to BE a writer, but rather a more controlled desire to write. In truth I don't want to be a writer any more, the life seems so unstructured and adrift and I've had enough of that in my life. But I do want to write and I want to do so seriously, or at least with some degree of dedication. The thing is I'm afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of being bogged down in something that could never work. Afraid of being stupid or foolish or hackneyed or amateurish or a thousand other things. And I'm also afraid that I don't have the dedication to see my creations through to the end. I have no trouble coming up with stories, and no trouble writing prose that other people find interesting, but I am almost never able to force myself to finish anything and editing is an art I never learned.

There's also the fact that I know a 41 year old man who wanted nothing in his life so much as to be an actor and even though he's talented and has been very dedicated the breaks didn't fall his way and he's left now trying to find another way after expending all that energy and passion.

I don't know whether I could deal with that. I'm not good at rolling with those sorts of punches.

Perhaps this is just one of the areas I have to explore as I try to figure out what I want from life. Perhaps it's time to try to wrestle with some of those demons even if they can't be conquered.

Writing's one of those things that everybody wants to do but very few can and it's hard to know which side of the equation you fall on until the dice are cast and the money's spent. It's an act of faith and that's one thing I am definitely in short supply of.
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