on writing

i write for several different reasons. i don't say "many," because honestly, the number of reasons is much closer to "several."

i write to remember stuff.

i also write to discover things about myself. what do the actions and thoughts of my fictional and semi-fictional characters reveal about me? especially, what do they reveal about me that i didn't already know?

and i write to solve problems. WWMD? how would a fictionalized me solve a fictionalized version of my current problems?

i went to my editing beach yesterday and attempted to write a scene for two different short stories. i failed. why? because in the past, when i've written short stories, it's always been about solving a problem that was present in my mind. this has always been the case -- even last week's parable followed this pattern.

yesterday, as i sat burning on my editing beach, i failed to come up with any stories because there simply isn't anything bothering me to the extent that i need to fictionalize myself and my situation.

that may be only half the story. here's the other half: while i assuredly have problems i'd like to work out (though today i have one fewer than i did coming into the weekend, thanks to my better half), my mind is innundated and occupied by good stuff (like this, though YMMV) that i'd rather blog about than "write" about.

so that's that, no stories 'cuz i have no problems.

but that's only half of what i wanted to say here. i also write to find out things about myself, hopefully things i didn't already know. last night, in re-reading parts of resurrection, i discovered something about myself. yeah, it was something i already knew, but in reading my own words from a year ago, the self-knowledge really crystallized. i had the good fortune of being, at the time, on the phone with someone wise, so the following may be news for some but it will be old hat for others.

quoth me:

That's the problem, thought Marcus. I haven't been working 
on fixing myself. I've let myself go stagnant lately. I'm spending 
too much time with Oz, not taking enough time for myself, not fixing 
myself up. I'm getting lazy. Out of shape, mentally and 
physically.

on reading this, i realized today what i was saying long ago, though at the time i didn't really understand the full implications (emphasis on "full" : i understood them well enough that i foresaw the future, i just didn't forsee the future as much as i do now. okay, back to our regularly scheduled BS).

i am afraid of a few things. i've banished many of my fears, as i've said before:

absent his fears of being unable to survive in an obscured and 
unknowable future, the magician is thus free to pursue what he 
wants, having faith in his own abilities to perpetually provide what 
he needs to survive.

but i still have a couple of fears. one is a perfectly natural and normal fear of death. how many times have i said that "i saw vultures on the beach"? my life has an expiration date, and it could be 50 years from now or 50 seconds from now. i don't know.

but because i have limited time, i feel a constant urgency to accomplish my goals (which, of course, naturally and humanly, change over time, though some of them don't). i want to get on with things. this is a relatively new development, coming about only once i matured to the point where i realized i wasn't immortal.

a natural outgrowth of my desire to get on with things is my desire (fortunately, paired with a natural ability) to do many things at once. that's why i bought an automatic and not a stick: i can do more things at once if i don't have to shift, including shifting, if i want, since i have sport shift, ya bastids.

here's the point: i don't feel like i have the time to choose between the things that are important to me. i must have them, and do them, all at once, right fuckin now. no time to lose. and so, when i read the passage above from resurrection i realized that, despite what i thought at the time, my writer's-mind realized what my conscious-mind sees only now. that relationship was doomed because i had to choose between loves. between the partner (ooh, new idea!) and the activities.

i said last night to my love that when i am with her, i get to do all 4 of the things i hold most dear: exercise, think, talk, and be with her. so it has always been with her. this is what i need in my life, and that fact is one of the reasons i have no qualms about what happened that night so recently ago in a romantic Pismo parking lot.

i don't have to choose between what i want to do. with her, i can have it all.

new idea: i am in need of a partner. how can someone be my partner if i must choose between being with them and being in the modes which i enjoy? answer: they cannot be a partner. they can perhaps be a lover or a friend, but unless they can be with me when i am most joyous (example: atop a high rock at sunol. example: running up crystal springs road. example: reading my poetry to me. example: enjoying spinach pakora with me.), they are not a partner by any sensible definition of the word.

we fit. oh my how we fit.

"No," said Marcus.  "I'm not... me.  This isn't me.  These are not my 
words.  I never said 'forever'.  I never said 'always'.  I am not 
okay without my things.  Without my memories.  Without my pain... my 
suffering.  I need them.  They are part of me."

Marcus is me. Marcus is not me.

I said "forever".

I said it because with her, I have never had to choose. I never will.