I’m left-handed. I’ve heard it theorized that being sinister makes you somehow more artistic or imaginative or something, and I’m not sure about that. But I feel the need to talk about the part of my brain that won’t stop screaming, also known as the part that seems to be running the show most of the time. See, I like being able to put the pen down and do other things every now and then. But of course, the voices in my head won’t let me do that. They’re playing an army of didgeridoos day in and day out. I just want to know what the hell I’m doing.
I was in my high school’s creative writing club. I spent a year or so churning out stuff that didn’t quite work. Writers know what this is like. Yes, it has ambition, but so what? Somewhere along the line, something hit me. What I wrote next wasn’t even particularly good, it just had more style and thematic cohesion than anything I had produced up until that point. The moderator, who had never offered me feedback on anything I’d written for the club before, told me I was onto something. So there’s that.
My personality profile says I’m the type who is drawn to writing and activism. I hate being so predictable. But I’m kind of used to being the odd one out. My parents weren’t even planning to have me, from what I’ve heard. Really, what good is knowing that I will someday conquer the world if I can’t even afford my own apartment? Someone could at least give me a TV show until I figure the rest of it out. What’s in between me and my megalomaniacal ambitions? I’m just trying to conquer and enslave the human race. You’d think I was trying to un-cancel Firefly or something.
It’s hard to explain what motivated me to write this. It’s like there was something cluttering shit up that I couldn’t quite define, so I’m writing this in the hopes that I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I might be willing to better tolerate this if I knew when it was coming, but no. I was going to watch TV or read or do something else, but now I’m doing this. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone to bed, lain awake for an hour or two, then gotten up, and watched one silly little YouTube video or read three pages in a book that I thought about reading/watching earlier but couldn’t get around to. Why is my subconscious so damned picky? My job requires me to get up very early, sometimes around 4 or 5 am. I kind of wish my schedule and the voices would sit down and hash things out, because I feel like I’m caught in the middle.
Publishing is an alien world, to me. I know all about writing, but how do you get somebody to actually publish what you wrote? I keep wondering if there’s a secret I’m missing, as if there is more to it than sending people what you’ve got until someone says yes. It might be a nice supplement to my income, for that matter. It’s very, very difficult to make a living as a writer, but having that on one hand and a part-time job on the other might be doable if you work very, very hard and get very, very lucky. (So in other words, it’s not gonna happen. I was just spitballing anyway.)
I think my problem is that I’m not very good at getting people to listen. I’m very, very good at standing my ground. If you’ve ever read this blog before, you probably know that I have many strong opinions and deeply held beliefs (all of which, as far as I’m concerned, are the Divine Truth), but so what? The mentor in me says I should be patient and all and good things will come blah blah blah. Fine. Whatever. All I would like is to know which way I’m facing. Grad school was tough. I made it through, but there were times when I was thanking God that whatever I was working on was a group project. On one assignment, I showed up to all the meetings and said not one word while everyone else talked about what we should do. If someone had asked my thoughts, I wouldn’t have even been able to bullshit something. I was that clueless. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I had tried to learn how to use the program, but I couldn’t even get the tutorial or whatever to work and was too inhibited to ask anyone else for help. For the record, I’m an amazing public speaker. It’s when I have to include another person in the conversation that things get rough.
I’ve always identified with Sherlock more than Watson. Strangely enough, I also find myself identifying with Wilson more than House, which is weird, since House was very obviously inspired by Sherlock Holmes. I don’t know what to make of that. Maybe it’s because Wilson knows his limitations and Watson, God bless him, sometimes feels more like Holmes’s protege than his friend. I like Elementary, by the way. Sherlock just jumped the shark (that was the dumbest cliffhanger I have ever fucking seen) so I admire a show that takes a more low-key approach. Lucy Liu is a refreshingly understated Watson (I’d never been a big fan of hers until now), the mysteries are, by TV standards, somewhat believable, and the show never seems to be trying too hard to convince us of Sherlock’s brilliance. He’s not a human supercomputer, just a really smart guy who is very driven. That’s the way it is with geniuses, you know. We’re just like everyone else, except better.
Yes, I did just compare myself to Sherlock Holmes. I can do that. This is my kingdom.