Why I Write…?

I ask myself this question more than once a day… why do I do it, why did I ever
start doing it?

It might seem like a relatively simple question to answer… surely I must have a clear reason behind doing one thing each and every day, habitually. But… no, I don’t. Of course, I love doing it, and any person who writes for themselves – for the love of doing it – will tell you that. I’m sure there is a deeper meaning in there somewhere, something intrinsic, woven into my being. But maybe it’s one of those things that are never meant to be found – they just exist, and we don’t question that existence, we needn’t, for it is a part of us.Read More »

Murakami’s Beautiful Worlds

My favourite writer is absolutely, unequivocally Haruki Murakami. It is like with my favourite film, (500) Days of Summer – no other writer, nor no other film even manages to come close. It is a funny thing this. There’s a cavernous gap between these, and then the second bests. I’m mostly certain nothing will ever even come close. And maybe this is close-minded of me, or maybe I believe and see too much in one, singular thing. Yet, it is comforting to know that the meaning Murakami holds within me, is constant, it is reliable, and cosy.

Why do I adore Murakami so much? It’s a hard question that I suppose has no clear answer, probably like most things in life. Maybe if I looked deep and hard enough, it would be there, lurking in some corner of my mind. But why bother? The mysteriousness is part of the intrigue, the fun. And considering this is Murakami we’re talking about, it seems perfectly applicable, for he is the master of mystery and ambiguity.

The first book I read of his was Norwegian Wood, it wasn’t calculated at the time, I just found it on the shelf. Though, looking back, it’s the perfect, accessible place to start. Now, I’ve read the majority of them – Kafka on the Shore being my favourite, I can honestly say that the one moment picking that one book from the shelf, has been one of the most influential things in my life. Especially within my own writing.

When I read what I have written, I see him in there, little specks of his inspiration. Of course, I’m not fooled into thinking it is anywhere near as good, and neither am I anywhere near as talented as he is. But it is there. It’s strange how we… appropriate parts of another person: their writing style, their thought processes, their words, even to an extent, their ideas. In most cases, we do not realise it, maybe not until a later date, maybe not until we realise which parts of us are truly ourselves and which parts are benevolent pieces of others.

Murakami is among the very few people who have managed to make a mark on my world, and how I view the world, and how I write the world.

I get the feeling I need to write more about it, about him. But for now this is all I can find, all I can understand and transcribe into words.

-Chris ❤

Exhausting Narrative

I sit and I read;

And I read and I sit.

A motion, by one,

To the next, and the next.

Simple, evocative.

Pained, impossible.

True, it’s not nearly enough.

But look, change,

It is first to be recognised.

And then acted upon.

One, and then two.

Understanding, in what to do.

Grasping on;

Clinging to my exhausted narrative.

Doing, and undoing.

Creating, and destroying.

A clock; a circle.

Going around and around.

A Trip In Time

Yesterday we were without power for just over 24 hours. Now, obviously that isn’t a great amount of time… still, we forget how much we take something as simple as electricity for granted. Also, the ways in which it affects our lives – for better and for worse.

It was stormy outside, and the high winds must have brought down a power line somewhere. Being here in the countryside, I highly doubt we are top priority. I’m surprised they remembered us at all! Damned government! 

Still, I think it was a sobering reminder of current times. We are all so intertwined within the modern day – the lives we live online, and the endless amount of things it enables us to do. So much so, that we become locked in our ways of social media and instant, on-demand entertainment, that we forget about the things this world supresses, the things that often mean more than what replaces them. Things this world makes us forget.

The fire was roaring. Roasted veg were cooking in the Solid Fuel Range we luckily have, and a warm cup of tea was between my legs. All while I read the words of H.P. Lovecraft in the candlelight, straining my eyes to see his beautiful poetic words. I imagined him writing them under similiar conditions. Slaving away at his typewriter, endlessely relaying all the thoughts that entered his head onto the page. Taking comfort in them. And then myself being able to take the same comfort and excitement in them almost a hundred years later.

It makes you think… Sure, electricity, it allows me to write this. It allows me to read other blogs. It allows me to have access to information that would otherwise be lost on me. And yet, I feel slight pangs of sadness that I can’t live in the past. In a world with minimal electricity. Living a much simpler life – blissfully unaware of pretty much everything, if you like. Maybe this is ignorant, maybe it is even arogant, selfish to want something different to the luxury that I am thankful to have. And yet, I yearn for things to be simpler. To wake up and not have to think about the world ten miles beyond myself, to not know it even exists in any meaningful sense. To farm, pick potatoes, and cook them late at night. To sleep when it gets dark, and to wake when it becomes light.

I’m living something of a lie, I know that. It is that feeling when a part of you just doesn’t fit.

As silly as this sounds, sometimes I find myself looking towards an apocalypse… well, maybe it even sounds macarbe, or sick. I don’t pretend to know exactly why I feel like this, nor why I can rationally justify it in any sane way. It’s one of this things that just is. Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of The Walking Dead, or maybe I want something to actually happen in my life. Though I know in reality, if it were to happen, I might not fare so well. I like to think better than some, (I’m a country person, I know basic survival things,) but within a month, I’d probably be dead…

Anyway… don’t forget the simple things in life. Take away all the modern-day for a second, and just enjoy and feel the moment as it is. Just be human, removed from everything else but its pure, natural state. Meditate. Leave the Facebook and Twitter feeds alone for a while! Trust me!

-Chris ❤

On Not Writing

Okay… okay, I’ll admit it – I haven’t written anything in probably a month. Well, actually, I’ve written things on here, short stories, and some poetry. But I mean something substantial – working on my novel, (if you can call it that!)

Since I’ve started writing semi-seriously, which I suppose has been for the last three years, I have started many novels. Though never finished one, never even coming close to such a feat. I think the furthest I ever got was about 75k words, 200 pages. It was called ‘The World Now,’ and frankly it was shite. Then there came a slew of ideas that never breached the 20k margin. I group these into the ‘No Man’s Land’ of works. Things I don’t remember. Things that were thrown away to never see the light of day again.Then, we reach present day. The period which I like to call ‘The Renaissance.’ A time in which things come together. A place where walls are broken down. Somewhere once hidden values and secrets are placed into a jumble of words to form a sentence. Out of this came the novel I’m still ‘working’ on – ‘Chaos Theory.’ And then the latter stages arrived, a period of little to no writing.

With each iteration, each evolution of my writing, things have become both clearer and impossibly more elusive. The effort required has gone through the roof. And with it the love ascribed. Things have come to weigh much more heavily  on my conscience – who my characters are and the actions they undertake. Everything has somehow taken on a whole lot more meaning. Throughout this I have been open to change. Laying down two or three thousand words a day is bound to do that to a person. I accepted that my characters would be part myself, and I part them. Every writer has to do this. We have to thrust ourselves headfirst into it. Otherwise what’s on the page will be two-dimensional, vague, thin.

Some days I found it impossible to write. Lately that has transgressed to all days.

How do I break the cycle? How do I get back into writing every day? It is not so easy. Is it writers block? No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure I believe in such a notion. The act of writing is a complex task. Sometimes the ideas do not flow. Sometimes the words are stale. Sometimes there are no words at all. It is these days I hate the most. The days when I look forward to the future when I will be able to write once again.

I don’t punish myself for this. There will come a time when all returns, as vibrant as ever.

I keep looking upon the last word of the last thing I have written. It says ‘Shadmu,’ the name of a mysterious character I have developed. And I cannot think beyond that point. I cannot arrive at the destination that follows. It is a funny thing to delve into the consciousness of ideas and be greeted with utter emptiness. The feeling of nothing being there, and yet knowing it’s all there, only hiding.

I wait. Maybe it will be tomorrow. Maybe it will be the day after. Or the week after. Or the month after. However long, the words will come. I’m ccertain of it. 

-Chris ❤

My Personality Type – INFP-T

So, I took a personality test (I did it here – https://www.16personalities.com/) and apparently I’m an INFP-T.

I’m about as introverted as you can get, and about as turbulent as you can get. With good amounts of intuitiveness and prospectiveness in there too. Now, it says I am a dreamer, a true idealist who is always looking for the good in the world. Sure, I answered the questions honestly even when I didn’t like the answer I was giving. And I suppose, I do search for the good, hope that it is out there in droves. Though, it is more complicated. A part of me rationally thinks that the majority of people out there just aren’t good. I don’t know how I feel about this, or how it fits into things. It’s as though I hope things, and people will always be good, underneath. Yet, I know this is not the actual reality we all live in.

According to the page, only 4% of people have this personality type. I suppose I can see why. Things aren’t always the easiest. Finding people who I can relate to, who I don’t inadvertantly offend – it is a terribly hard, tiring. Although, It is a challenge that I royally accept (on a good day, anyway). Something to work towards. A way in which to imporve myself. Then again, I suppose we don’t choose who we are, what are ‘mind-make-up’ is.

Whilst the negative aspects plauge each day of my life, the positves equally enrich them in surely a more rewarding way. Replacing more than what is taken. Or… this is what I believe anyway. And isn’t believing the most important part of anything?

I am creative. I am passionate for the things I love. I am sensitive to most things. I can’t control my emotions. Friendships/relationships are dreadfully hard. I prefer a book to a party. I think far too much about certain things. 

In the end, I am who I am… a person who I’m slowly getting to know and accept.

What’s your personality ‘type?’