"Any man not busy being born is busy dying."
I find that it's been a problem of mine since the start of art school. The women. Not the usual form of problem, though. It does stem from that, however. I've been having trouble placing female characters into my writing. I attribute this to the fact that I'd given up on understanding them altogether. They appear from time to time as background characters and supporting cast. I never really delve into them, though.
I had an interesting discussion with British several weeks ago. I admitted to him that I thought that I was a much less sympathetic and emotional person now than I was when I was romantically involved four years ago. I recall telling him that it wasn't so much of me bottling up my pain as it was me burning off the emotional nerve-endings with a hot knife. He said that was bad for me as a human being and as a writer. In typical British fashion, it took him about a half hour of dry exposition to get to the point. When he did, however, it hit home. I knew what he was saying. One of my tools is missing. If I can't write evocative character, than it's all pretty much going to be hollow work.
Speaking of writing, I shared a story of mine with my friend Jon a few weeks ago. We were in the game room on the second floor of British's garage. It might have been the Sabbat campaign we were playing at the time. Anyway, I hear Jer mention to somebody that this was to "Stroke [my] ego." Yet another situation where I learn to hate my friends a little more. I just go ahead let him think that. Jer's a stubborn fuck and any explanation I would have given would be a waste of breath. I shared the story with Jon because it dealt with two characters that he had previous knowledge of. I wanted to see if I conveyed their voices on the page correctly. Instead, I'm seen as an egotistical cocksucker by somebody I consider to be my best friend. I guess those are the kind of surprise stomps on the dick that get me every now and then.
I had an interesting discussion with British several weeks ago. I admitted to him that I thought that I was a much less sympathetic and emotional person now than I was when I was romantically involved four years ago. I recall telling him that it wasn't so much of me bottling up my pain as it was me burning off the emotional nerve-endings with a hot knife. He said that was bad for me as a human being and as a writer. In typical British fashion, it took him about a half hour of dry exposition to get to the point. When he did, however, it hit home. I knew what he was saying. One of my tools is missing. If I can't write evocative character, than it's all pretty much going to be hollow work.
Speaking of writing, I shared a story of mine with my friend Jon a few weeks ago. We were in the game room on the second floor of British's garage. It might have been the Sabbat campaign we were playing at the time. Anyway, I hear Jer mention to somebody that this was to "Stroke [my] ego." Yet another situation where I learn to hate my friends a little more. I just go ahead let him think that. Jer's a stubborn fuck and any explanation I would have given would be a waste of breath. I shared the story with Jon because it dealt with two characters that he had previous knowledge of. I wanted to see if I conveyed their voices on the page correctly. Instead, I'm seen as an egotistical cocksucker by somebody I consider to be my best friend. I guess those are the kind of surprise stomps on the dick that get me every now and then.