terça-feira, 11 de janeiro de 2011

I have a feeling very few people ever came here, and since I haven't posted in about a year, I imagine this place is pretty much abandoned. It's alright; in fact, it's perfect.

I haven't written in months.

It started with not being able to finish NaNoWriMo — not even being able to get past the second week! — and it went on from there. I had no story, my characters were one-dimensional, the plot was as full of holes as a big block of cheese and it was going nowhere. I don't blame it on anyone; it was just bad. I had to come up with a story after spending three weeks in bed, crying like a child over a breakup so bad (and self-provoked, I know) that ended up stripping me of one of my best and closest friends, and the death of a family member; the first I ever witnessed. So I didn't have a plot, or a decent set of characters. Hell, even the town it happened in was made up, because I just wasn't in the mood for research.

I have always seen writing as a form of catharsis. When my relationship with K came to an end, almost a year ago, I wrote about it like a mad woman. When the debacle with the other girl happened, I wrote and wrote and wrote. Writing, even more than photography, has always served as my way to exorcise my demons. But this time I was so broken, so shaken up, that I wasn't even able to write about it. I photographed myself, a lot — which I don't think was all that positive, since it was a small exercise in self-indulgence, instead of a way to let go of the situation. Partly, I think that's why it's taking me so long to let go of an issue that should be long gone — I never put it down on paper.

I'm not going to do it now — I'm still not ready, even though it's been almost three months. But the fact that I have acknowledged it is a start for me. And the simple act of writing this down, right now, this rant about how unable I am to deal with things in a proper manner, is taking a gigantic weight off my back. My only fear is that I might be like Almasy, in The English Patient movie (was this line in the book as well? I can't remember) "Every night I cut out my heart, but in the morning it was full again." That I might write and write and write and never take it out of me completely.

Still, it's worth a try.

I have a couple of characters I've been working on since the beginning of last summer. Frankie is one of them. I thought I had found my new Clementine in her, but so far that's not right. Frankie is stranger than Clementine (and Clem is unbelievably strange), more of an artistic soul. But how to take her and make her real? I know I tend to bring the characters I like closer to myself, to the way I perceive myself to be, but I'm afraid this might not be the right way with Frankie. I tried using my photography to make her real, but I couldn't. She's too much of an individual to be mixed up with me. And let's be honest, halfway through the process I found more interesting things to do, and gave up on her. The last time I wrote about her was in Cape Verde, in September.

I have a couple of ideas. A couple of plots where I could insert her, but she doesn't seem to perfectly fit either. They're not strong enough, and they're not fragile enough. If this makes any sense. She's the kind of girl who likes The Smiths (decision I made the other day, while looking at the notes I have on her). She's the kind of girl who will dance in the middle of the street. She's innocent and distant at the same time; as if she knew that only madness can come out of love, out of giving yourself completely. And I kind of want to give her a better-half — in the same way Clementine has Julian, but I don't think she's ready for that. The thing is, Clem has had Julian all her life: they knew they were soul mates from the moment they met, when they were eleven; they didn't act on it until almost ten years later, but deep down they knew.

I feel like I have to free Frankie (Free Frankie! LOL) from the concept of a soulmate. She might have one, she might find the one (boy or girl — and while for the first few months of conceiving her I thought it would be a woman, now I'm more inclined towards the boy counterpart), but it will be later. She will be in her twenties, mid to late. Still, I need those people she knows she can rely on; the family, blood-related or not. I don't know. I have so many contradicting notes on this character, it's not even funny.

Maybe I shouldn't be writing this here; it might be too public. I don't know. I figure I had to do it somewhere, and this is as good a place as any. Besides, all four of you who read it (thanks, lovelies!) are people I trust, so it's fine. Even if people from the outside come out, what's the harm in this? All I know is that I feel better. So thank you, if you read this far.

2 comentários:

Jorge Angelino disse...


12 de janeiro de 2011 às 16:39
Anónimo disse...

It was a pleasure, m'darling!

13 de janeiro de 2011 às 09:36

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