northangel27: (Default)
I have mused, and mused lately over the source of my writer's block, and have yet to discover it, but I have discovered some interesting things along the way--things about love.

One of the reasons why I started writing Harry Potter fanfiction in the first place was to try and work out for myself the real meaning of love, life and death (which I think was actually Rowlings reason for writing the series in the first place, but that is only my personal opinion based on things she has said in interviews, etc.). How they intertwine, how they are related to one another. No small assignment! You can see these themes threading all the way through "The Alchemist", "Once" and "Solace".

But, I think the real question I was asking myself, at its core, was, does love give life enough meaning. Is love enough to imbue life with divine purpose, or is life simply meaningless. It is so fleeting and brief, and the older we get, the faster it seems to fly, the more we seem to lose those dear to us. Most of us live simple lives, and I think it is fair to say that the majority of us are not going to be famous in any major way, or even leave anything concrete here that will be remembered after our deaths, so it is natural to ask the question - "Why are we here then? What is life really for?" Could love be that reason?

It's been quite a personal journey for me the last three years. I have lost several people dear to me to death. I have had relationships fall apart and mend, only to begin to unravel again. I have had new loves begin. I've had everything I thought I believed about life and love shaken to its very roots. The person who started writing "The Alchemist" in the winter of 2007 no longer exists. She is gone, probably forever. The girl who wrote "Once" in 2008 is gone too. Even the person who wrote "Solace" only a few brief months ago is gone.

There are things I thought I knew or was discovering about love when I began writing those stories, that just seem silly and trite now. They don't exactly seem like lies, but more like they are far too simple. The more I live, the more I lose, the more I love, the more unknowable love seems to get--the more mysterious and numinous. And I think that is the way with anything worth knowing. The old adage "The older you get the more you realize how little you really know" really holds true.

I think that perhaps the writer's block comes from the fact that I have finally, through one relationship in particular, come to realize that love really is a mystery. A beautiful mystery, but a mystery all the same. It is all things and it is nothing. It is pleasure and it is pain. It is sweet and it is bitter. It is calm and it is fiery. It is completely illogical, impractical and instinctual (hard things for me to embrace, being a person who prides herself on being logical, practical and living from the head more than the gut). But that unknowability is what makes it wonderful and worth seeking.

But how does a person put words to something so ethereal? I feel that all the world's greatest poets only scraped the very surface of love's true nature, and the words that poured from their pens were so much more profound than anything that I could ever have written. If centuries of writers, artists, playwrites and poets have not been able to unwrap loves mysteries, then how can I think that I ever will.

But perhaps this is one of those things that is more about the journey, the search, the adventure than it is about the destination. If it is true that we read to know we are not alone, then I think that as a writer, all we need do is write honestly and from our true soul about these issues, which have been at the core of humanity since the first human learned to transform thought to language, and we will somehow connect to our reader through that great universal ocean of common longing.

I fear though, that sometimes that is easier said than done. There is a deep seated fear attached to really delving deep enough into one's soul to drag out the more complicated and painful aspects of love, whether in your life or on the page.

Truth, no matter what you believe that to be, is never born painlessly. It is torn from you wrenchingly, and slams into you like a truck when it is revealed. It breaks you, in other words, and it is only when you begin to pick up the pieces and put yourself back together that you really realize the value in it.

Love--real love is like truth, I think. It destroys as it creates and creates as it destroys. Love, if it is real at all, makes you see the truth about yourself, and you have two choices: you can stay and suffer that pain, face your true self, break into a million pieces so that you can come back together again, or you can run, and move on to something more comfortable, something easier that allows you to remain as you were.

Staying is worth it, it seems. or so I am learning. But the place I am at in this moment, is so difficult to explore with words because it is all instinct, feeling, passion. Perhaps that is why I am drawn more to visual mediums, but even those seem to fail me. My old dusty piano is starting to look awfully tempting. Perhaps music is truly the language of the soul!

Anyway, as you can tell from this long and rambling journal of nothingness, words continue to evade me, and I do apologize to anyone who watches me for my fanfiction. I have no way of telling you when I might pick that up again. My first priority is of course ~Nynaeve-3's kiriban fic, and after that the prize fic for the Snapely Contest all over at DeviantArt, but other than that, I have no idea when I will pick up the fannish pen again, or even if I will. Here's hoping!
northangel27: (Default)
Thanks to everyone for all their feedback on my musing over the flower magic scene in "The Prince's Tale". I got to hear everyone's wonderful points of view on the whole issue and that was so fun. A rather interesting thing has come of it, though, something I totally wasn't expecting, and it's got me thinking about the delights and risks of putting one's self out on the internet in such an open way.

~Nynaeve-3  at LiveJournal happened upon a blog response to my journal yesterday, and linked me to it. It is a blog by someone who apparently watches me at DA, but I am not sure of their identity. Interestingly enough, this person also didn't (as far as I know), post a response to my journal on DA, but was more than willing to comment freely on their own blog. They apparently had also read my review of the HBP movie the other day, and not thought much about that either. In fact the entire month of July on their blog (granted, a total of only two entries), is based off of things I have said here in my journals. Needless to say it was the profoundly mean spirited things they had to say about me personally, as well as my art that hurt the most.

I am so tempted to try and defend myself against the specific things they accuse me of, but I think that would just be adding fuel to fire, and I don't want to go down that road, but it did get me to thinking about the dangers of putting oneself out there so openly on the internet. I have had friends in the past, who have completely stopped posting their art or their writing on the internet because they have been so hurt by what people have said about their art, or worse yet, about them personally, either directly, or anonymously and behind their back. I never really understood it before, and honestly, for the most part, I have been able to avoid such negative experiences myself, until now (with a couple of mild exceptions).

I think the thing that is most interesting to me, is the tendency of the internet to bring out the worst in people. I think that people say things on the internet that they would never say in person, mean spirited and nasty things, a lot of the time. I adore the internet, but it does have that element of anonymity to it, and that seems to be enough to give some people the 'courage' they wouldn't normally have, and gives them, they seem to feel, the 'right' to say whatever they please to and/or about whomever they please.

I have to admit that this little event has made me think twice about how open and honest I am about my personal life, my interests, etc. here and on DA. I tend to be a very open person in general (it was not always so but I have worked hard at becoming brave enough to be more open), and I try to be loving, compassionate, and encouraging to everyone here and at DA, and try to always see the best in people. But, I am starting to wonder if the internet is really the place to be so open.

I suppose it isn't so for everyone, but personal attacks of this nature, even anonymous as they are, tend to throw me for a bit of a loop creatively. I don't mind constructive criticism, which I would define a criticism on the actual technical merits of either my writing or digital art, with suggestions on how it can be improved, but I can't stomach destructive criticism which are comments like: "Your art sucks", "This is really poorly done", or attacks against me as a person. These tend to through up a little creativity block.

Honestly, I write and create for myself first. I have never pretended to be a professional artist or writer, for that matter. I only started sharing my work online because I thought that if even one other person happened to get some joy out of it, then it would be worth it. That being said, I do have a certain amount of myself invested in my work, and so yes, it does hurt when people insinuate that my work is so mediocre that they can barely stomach it, and make completely unfounded assumptions about my mental health and personal life based off of comments I share in my journal here and at DA.

But then, as I say, I suppose this is the risk you take whenever you put yourself out in the world. I think of some of the virulent, disgusting and cruel things I have heard said about JK Rowling over the years, especially since the release of Deathly Hallows, and I suddenly understand why she, and many other celebrities for that matter, prefer to not read anything written about them.

Anyway, in summation, I have certainly learned a lesson through all this, the more you put yourself out there in the world, the more people seem to think they have the right to say and assume what they please about you. Will I stop being so open? I don't know. It is tempting, but then I think that it would be cowardly to stop sharing my opinions just because one or two people feel it is their right to make assumptions and say what they please, without even having the courage to say it to my face.

It's given me a lot to think about, at any rate.

March 2010

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