A twist of the knife

"The Grave" has changed the entire direction of the "In Caves & Catacombs" series, and I love it. But the more you love something, the more frightened you are of it, for it, by it. It scares me because it's dark, but is it dark enough? Does it honor the veteran experience enough? Does it honor the struggle of being homeless enough? Is it, in and of itself, enough?

I'm afraid the truth is that it isn't enough. I fear that I haven't done it justice, and that bothers me. There's that twinge of regret, that twist of the knife, that if I held onto it longer, if I worked it more, that it could be so much better. The same goes for "The Boat", and the same will go for the next three or four installments in the series. Hell, the same thing will happen to the Efrenen Sea series. I could hold onto it for ten more years. Perfect it. Coddle it. Shield it from the light and critics alike. But it'll only make me fear it more. And I'm the most afraid of letting the fear hold me back from accomplishing all the things I want to accomplish.

Now that I've said it, it gives me peace. Because nothing I write is ever going to be good enough, and that's okay. My husband tells me that I'm too hard on myself, and he's right. I push and push because I feel like I don't measure up. But that's good, in some ways. Because that's what motivates me to keep going. I don't expect anything big to happen. I don't expect to be able to quit my day job to write full time. What I want from this venture is for people to read what I produce and to enjoy it. It's so simple--I just want to entertain you. And there's a darkness in that, all my own.

Bo Burnham hits the anguish of it absolutely perfectly... hang with this all the way through to the end (it really happens around the five minute mark, but seriously, watch the whole thing), and you'll see the connection: 

Full show available on NETFLIX.

I don't think I can handle this right now, either. So I'm going to go back to writing the third installment, God help me.

Conscious Writing

Years ago, I had the terrifying epiphany that many young adults experience: that life was happening faster than I was consciously aware of. I couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen, and there I was, contemplating my own powerlessness in the face of time. It was too heavy then to process, and so I didn't, and instead descended happily back into focusing on my anxiety over the "small things".

Years later, I experienced it all over again as an abrupt, unwelcome awareness of myself and the unyielding passage of time. But this time I remembered that this sense of overwhelming consciousness had happened once before, and it felt good, as if I had slowed time just by being aware of it. It was a revelation, and I felt that by being conscious, I was somehow cheating death. And I continued thinking about it and wondered if perhaps there was a way to maintain that awareness, to stay awake long term, and maybe it would make my life feel longer. So I did what any Type A overthinker would do--I penciled it into my schedule. Literally. I added it to my daily calendar as a reminder to "WAKE UP!" every day at 6pm, and for about a year, I did just that. I would stop what I was doing at 6pm damn near every day, and think about where my life was and where I wanted it to go. I also took those moments to be happy for the successes I'd had or witnessed, no matter how small, and reflected on my failures and how I could grow from them.

I don't have that reminder set anymore, and I'm no longer focused on cheating death. And although it's not every single day that I practice "waking up", I'd like to think it's become a part of my lifestyle. I do my best to live with my eyes wide open. And I love being able to explore the world around me and connect with the earth and the people that inhabit it. Life is beautiful, even at its most challenging. And as I feel pressured by myself to write, to finish, to not miss an opportunity by delaying any further, I must consciously remind myself to stop and wake up. Look around. Look at the beauty here, even in pain and imperfection. Take a moment to process it. Then I can write about the world, and maybe I'll be able to do it some justice.

To my fellow writers, dreamers, family and friends: don't forget to be aware. As we write and live out our dreams, our fantasies, and our own unique versions of reality, we must remember to pop our heads above water for a look around and a gulp of air. Our world is, after all, where we draw our inspiration to create in the first place.