Man, they love me when I'm laying the cut. (Day 57)

Awesome. Finally I'm getting back into the habit of mid-day posts.

Last night I worked on a short story thats kind of wreaked havoc on my psyche. I should explain:

Years ago in High School, instead of being on the football team and getting girls, I took the much less cool and studly path; I took Drama/Theater for all four years of my High School career. Through it, I was in a few play; most notably playing a psychotic killer named Vincent Grey.

Vincent was an interesting character, to be honest. And I hate come off pretentious like that. But honestly, he was an interesting character, and it was really fun to get to do that. Vincent came to a town, and was a handy man who every one liked. One day he accidentally electrocuted himself, and became a mute who's only purpose in life was to murder those who loved him.

One of the coolest things about doing plays is the live atmosphere. It's literally chaos behind the curtains, and side stage. Part of you is enveloped in the play happening on the stage because you're so proud of the people out there on the stage, but theres the part of you struggling to remember what you're supposed to say next, and then theres the elation and rush of adrenaline after having been on stage in front of a decent sized crowd.

Eventually Vincent was killed off. But several times, the protagonists attempted to kill him off, feeling they'd accomplished finally at one point they sat in relief on stage. Out stumbles Vincent.

And at the moment, one of the guys in the play, his mother was in the crowd. And of course there was the expected, "Ohhhh!" from the crowd. But this kids mother, in the dark you could see her stand up and yell loudly, "OH NO HE DIDN'T!".

I bit a hole in my cheek trying not to break character. Ladies and gentleman, presenting:
the Show Stopper.

It was awesome. To be honest, and I'd love to do it again. I really, really would.

But I learned a lot in that class. I feel a lot of what I learned in Theater can be applied to real life, so much more than mathematics. Plus I'm rubbish with numbers.

But you learn to read signs, read people for reactions. To think on your feet--think four or five steps ahead in case something unexpected happens. To hone your wit, and wherewithal.

In Albany, ever Monday they would have an open mic at this place called the Muddy Cup, which was a fun little coffee shop. So as often as I could, I'd go down and do the stand up just to help keep me from playing tag with a public bus' grill.

There was one instance after I did my little rant and rave where someone asked me what the process was of writing my jokes, and it kind of struck me odd.

I don't write jokes. What happens, with almost anything I do is rarely pre-meditated.

I forgot several lines during that play, and improvised just enough for it to fit flow.

But one thing I learned from Drama was the idea of method acting. Coming into things as a poor excuse for a writer, I find that concept quite interesting. I truly do. The idea of placing your self in a position where you are living the character you portray is an fascinating process.

While I like to leave wiggle room with stand up, and liked to do the same with doing drama, with writing its a completely different story.

I've been writing for quite some time now. I've not improved much, really. I'm barely below the line of sucking though, which is nice. Maybe one day I'll suck instead of defying the laws of physics by sucking and blowing at the same time.

But I constantly try to change how it is that I write. One thing I've discovered though is applying the idea of method acting and turning that into a tool for writing. I'm not really sure of anyone else who really does it. Jesse and I had a conversation today about authors; especially creative writing suburbanites in college classes.

So many of them become infatuated with the idea of being self-destructive to A) Have credibility amongst their peers, B) To show how they are the antithesis of a subversive existence; that they truly are a unique snow flake. One of a kind, or C) Become obsessed with the image of Hemingway, Bukowski, Kerouac, Wilde or any other author that drowned in their own decadence.

Instead of ever being concerned with what it is they are doing, and living their lives in a more contentious manner, they become in this character; this identity thats built upon false pretenses. "I drink absinthe, I take pills, I snort lines." and to be quite honest, not to say I'm absolving myself from some of those tendencies, they make it come across as their own prideful existence.

I nearly choke to death hearing people say, or even ask me, "I remember when I found my voice, when or how did you discover your voice, Aaron?"

Are you kidding me? What 'voice'? There are so many parallels between the literature industry and the music industry. I've had the dubious honor of being able to be exposed to both, and to be honest...I don't want to be apart of something like that. I do, but I don't, either.

"Whats your voice, Aaron?"

That disgust me on a different level. It strikes me the same as when kids follow underground bands.

What if I had a voice, and then one day I decided I'd hit puberty and had a different octave? They turn on you pretty quickly, honest.

Same thing goes with a band. The second you add that fifth chord and break from a 2/3 time signature you're a sellout.

The egos of almost every 'serious' writer I've come across makes me want to fucking vomit. Every single one of them want to live a lifestyle I could never imagine myself living. Buried deep in the Five Burroughs of New York City (No slight on NYC, I love you kids) having wine, attending art galleries while some pompous DJ spins unintelligible records from obscure Peruvian Techno artist. I know a lot of people attempting to fit into that "art" scene, and honestly want no part of it.

As far as writers who aim to actually get published, I have no friends or associates in that realm.

No one (in the writing community) seem to be willing to deviate from that path and commit the taboo of not giving a fuck. Of just being yourself for the sake of just accepting that thats the best fit. I'd venture to say most of those serious authors have no clue who they are.

Thats why they romanticize decadence. At once it was fun, but now it's an integral part to who they are. You gotta uphold this image to fit into a community, and honestly...whats the point?

Which is why I want to disassociate myself from ever having a 'voice'. I don't need to find who I am through my work, because honestly...I do this for me. Not for you, and I don't mean to sound like a dick. I want people to dig it, sure, or else I wouldn't be publishing it. But I have nothing to prove to my "peers".

And in applying method acting to writing, it's an interesting process. I don't want to get into specifics right now, mostly because I'm trying to shake off the feeling I've had stuck with me for the past eighteen hours. It's something most people would never willing participate in, I know that much.

I wrote this story called, Chet. You might remember that from a post a few weeks ago. I'd had trouble with trying to decide if I should even write it because of the content. I finally decided that I needed to do it because the idea continuously burned in the back of my head.

The preparation for it though kind of took a bit of a toll on me.

So many of these "serious authors" attempt to make their struggle their existence to hone their "craft".

Because of I write a story, I'll start a story and not move until I've finished it. I don't want to have to relive some of these issues longer than need be. But as soon as I'm done with a story, I literally want to disassociate myself completely from writing, from the story, etc.

So anyway, thats my rant. To sum it up, "I'm so sick of modern art."

I leave you now with two more bits:

The guest updates is shaping, and is looking very promising. I've gotten confirmation from one in particular that I'm so giddy I may birth a unicorn. Don't even ask. But I'm really excited. There are so many talented people taking helm, that I can't wait for this to take shape. Some of the entries so far are really, really good.

And secondly I leave you with a teaser from Chet. Here we go. Hope you hate it:



Chet Teaser.

"It used to be safe here. Safe from the vermin, the filth, the putrid
infiltration of the secular world. It floods this city like a tidal wave
filled with sin and depravity. But I, I stand alone in these bleak streets
at night with the armor of the Lord, for I am his sheath and his shield.
I am the reckoning.

They took my daughter from me. They took her, and I watched her eyes scream
in horror whilst her mouth lay cocked in a smarmy smile. Curse the Devil, and
damn his minions for breaking those lips askew. I watched her eyes scream, gasp
and finally the shimmer was gone; I watched them take her, defile her...I watched
her die slowly.

They loved every moment.

But for what they took from me, I shall regain. In the name of the Lord,
in the honor of angels, vengeance shall reign.

And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye,
tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. - Deuteronomy 19:21."


Thats all I got for today. Make sure to go check out Have Tumor, Will Travel. It's much more interesting than this whiny baby bull-shit.

Until tomorrow.