Cainanite
Writing is hard.
by
, 04-05-2012 at 01:27 AM (722 Views)
I had imagined how easy it would be to write, if only I had the time. I thought I could write a novel with no effort, if only I didn't have the distractions of work, or had enough days off in a row.
I was wrong.
I've been off of work for two months now. I've had ample time to focus on my writing. There have been a few excuses, but overall, I've had the time I wished for so often.
My brain is a funny place. Even if I know exactly what I want to write, and have all of the plot points laid out, I can still only write when the inspiration hits me. And I thought I was creative.
The story I'm working on now, has been forming for almost a year. On the 20th of this month it will be exactly one year since I started it. The novel evolved from where I started, and I've had to re-write much of it to conform with that evolution.
I've had to write a prologue, an epilogue. I've added chapters and characters I never thought I would include. Those characters keep surprising me. I find, if I am not surprised by my characters, I can't really write their story.
I started to write the novel, a few days after I became a member on this site. It was just after I learned I was sterile, and suffering from low testosterone.
I'm not critically low on my T levels, but low enough that it has caused me some problems. Writing my story was my way of working through those issues. I don't think those issues will be resolved once I've added the last word to the page, but it has allowed me to change the way I think, and re-examine the way I've been reacting to things over the course of my life.
I'm writing this blog today, because I feel like I am getting close. I deeply desire to finish what I started, before my year is up. My need to share what I have written is growing in me like I have never felt before.
A few people on this site have read the start of the story, and chapters still in flux, but no-one has read the chapters that mean the most to me. I woke up one day realizing I didn't have the inspiration to write the chapters in order. I did however feel a great need to write the end of the story. So, I jumped ahead, wrote the last chapter, and the epilogue.
I am not ashamed to say that I wept real tears as I wrote the conclusion. Of course, writing the ending caused me to go back and re-write other chapters that suddenly didn't exactly fit where the story needed to go. Writing the conclusion re-inspired me to write through where I had stopped.
I'm jumping around the story now, Going from the beginning, middle and end with no order, but always narrowing in on where I can see the end in sight.
When I started the story, I thought I was writing about my fear of being in crowds, and my low self esteem. I thought at most, the story would go seven or eight chapters. I foolishly called the story, "How to Become the Life of the Party".
As I wrote though, my understanding of the story changed. I noticed themes I didn't know I was writing. Yet, my subconscious knew what it was doing. I was writing something much more important to my mental health.
Will it be important to anyone else? I doubt it. Nonetheless, I feel a growing need to share it with someone who understands. I need to discuss the themes, and meanings, metaphors. Writing it has been an outlet, but not the only one I am needing.
There is no-one in my life I can share this with. My story involves the sex of children, sex with children, sexual experimentation, abuse, sexual orientation, castration, and other themes best never mentioned in public. Running through all that though, is a simple love story, and a statement about real human nature, I think is important.
I am using forbidden topics to confront and analyze my own issues of sexuality, self esteem, and confusion with what seems a sexual world around a non-sexual me, and my purpose in it. My main character is a child, not because I wish I were that child, or desire a child sexually, or wish to do to a child what happens to mine in the story, but because I am that child.
I have no family, no friends or confidants I could comfortably share this story with, without them thinking I was a monster. I could only ever trust the people on this site to understand that what I am writing is not literal, but emotional.
I am writing this blog post, to vent. To get out of my system the need to explain myself and the story I am writing. To share with you what has been ripping me up inside.
I have decided I won't share the chapters I have written again, until I am finished. Perhaps I can use my burning need to share it to overcome any writer's block I may be feeling. I just need to discuss what is going on in my mind.
It took realizing I had a medical issue with my sexual development to realize a lot of this. I always fancied I'd write a novel one day. I had tried several times before.
My previous attempts to write a novel all had a similar main character.
The first novel I tried to write, was about a child created by science to have inhuman powers. Through an accident, he had the mind of an adult imprinted on his own. A kind of ghost Jiminy Cricket for his Pinocchio. A child guided by the mind of an adult.
My second try, followed a dying scientist who managed to reverse his age before he died, only to find himself trapped in the body of a child. A child with the mind of a man.
My third try was less science fiction and more fantasy. I tried to write of a child who would not age, and could not die. He bore the curse of his tyrant father, to spend all of human history as an insignificant boy, always present, but never vital.
My fourth try was a lot more successful, and I still have friends that beg me to finish it. I went all out Sci-Fi, with weird alien races, space ships, wacky technology and the rest. My main character was a man forced to live among aliens who all shared two bodies. To blend in, he had a second body cloned, to which his mind was linked. That second body grew naturally, and the man was forced to live as both a man and a child simultaneously. There was a lot of humor to be had, and my friends enjoyed the story.
My issue with all those prior attempts to write a novel is that they all shared the same problems, which led to my abandoning them. I was trying to write to be published. I avoided talking about sex and sexuality. I was trying to write for a broad audience that wouldn't judge me. Keeping the stories PG was restricting my creativity. It was a barrier I could not overcome.
This is the novel I have been trying to write since I was seventeen. It has taken me twenty years to sort out my brain enough that I can finally do it. Diving into that which is forbidden is the only way I could understand myself. It is the only way to honestly tell this story.
I'm scared that when I finish, no-one will understand it. No-one will be able to get through those taboo subjects to enjoy the meat of the story. Even when I'm done, I won't be able to share the message I want known to the world.
I understand now that the story I am telling is really my autobiography. It is the story of my life, and what I have learned. It is not literal. The graphic detail I use in the story never really happened, and possibly never could happen. Instead, it is the story of my life told through emotional beats. I am writing how I feel, and how I have felt. It is all the emotions of my life taken to extremes.
I hope that when people read it, they can overcome the taboo to see the love and compassion I have felt, and still feel. I hope they read to the end, so they can feel the freedom I finally feel, and the gratitude I have for my life.
I know that is a lot to ask of a story meant for the Eunuch Archive, but it remains my wish.
I'm going to go back to writing now. I just needed to get that out of my system.
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