Irony is dead. It's time for The New Sincerity!

I was sitting at a bar last night, and at this bar was a DJ. Michael Jackson had been dead less than 24 hours, and every fifth song was one of his. This was to be expected.

The other 80% of the music is what I'd like to talk about.

Whenever a new song came on, I thought to myself, "What is this DJ smoking?" I would then look around the bar, and see people realize what song was on and start laughing and singing along. At first glance, this seems like a good thing, right? Not so fast.

The music that was playing was not good music. It was not music that was played with the expectation that it would be heard by someone that actually thought it was good music. It was music that is commonly refered to as a guilty pleasure.

Look, just stop it already. If it's bad, it's bad. Stop trying to justify listening to bad music by doing it "ironically", and just admit that you enjoy it for what it is. If you like it, great! Listen to it if you want, just be honest about why you're listening to it. You'll be surprised how liberating it is.

Nobody thinks Abba is good music. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. It's all about The New Sincerity, folks.

Scenes from an inner dialogue.

Me: Hey, Brain, we need to talk.

Brain: Yeah, what about?

M: You need to cut this shit out, man.

B: Cut what out?

M: You know what I mean. Stop doubting me. It's not doing me any favors.

B: I'll stop doubting you if you stop fucking things up.

M: You're saying doubt is a good thing?

B: Yeah, it keeps you out of situations that may turn out bad. When you only do something you know will work out, then everything will always work out.

M: That's no way to go through life! How often does a situation come along that you know you can come out ahead? Now I know why I never do anything, it's your fault, you jackass!

B: Don't turn this on me, I've helped you avoid heartbreak, embarrassment, serious bodily injury, and a whole mess of bad! You should be thanking me!

M: OK, so maybe I missed out on some bad stuff, but what about all the good stuff I could have had to go along with it? So many times I could have made connections with people, learned new things, even made something of my life, all wasted for fear of a little failure.

B: Are you saying you actually want to fail?

M: YES! I want to fail, because that means I'm at least trying to make myself better. If you shoot for the stars and hit the ceiling, at least you're not still stuck on the ground.

B: Nice movie quote. Try coming up with something original for once.

M: I would would if you let me! Let something through for once, and maybe I'll be able to. I'm so out of practice, my speech muscles have atrophied.

B: Why can't you be content with who you are? It's worked in the past, why change it?

M: But it hasn't worked. It's been scraping me by for years, and I'm tired of it. I want to be bold, take chances, be someone of consequence. Instead, you've made me into wallpaper. Something someone can say, "Oh, how nice..." about and move on to something more important.

B: So you think you're important now? It's getting pretty roomy here in your GIANT HEAD!

M: Oh, great, bring my ego into this.

Ego: What's going on over here? Did I hear my name?

M: Yeah, you did. Feel free to join the conversation. What's so bad about being proud of what you've accomplished?

E: Nothing, really. That's what I've been trying to tell you guys for years. Look at me, I'm so out of shape. I haven't had any exercise in so long, I'm having trouble moving around.

B: You brought that on yourself. You wouldn't shut up, and it got us into trouble, remember?

E: I was young! None of us had been around for even a decade, and you expect things to be perfect? You're delusional.

B: The "young and stupid" defense? I don't buy it.

M: What it comes down to is you need to let someone else take over once in a while. You can't go on running things by yourself forever, you'll get burned out. And if you go, where does that leave me?

B: You're all nuts, you know that? Without me at the helm, you wouldn't last a week.

M: It's not up to you. I'm telling you to get in line.

B: You know I'll fight you on this every chance. I will not go quietly.

M: That's fine. Do what you have to do. I'll do what I have to do.

B: You'll regret this!

M: Maybe. But at least there's a chance I might succeed.

(Not so) Spontaneous Short Story - Part 1

I was looking through my Google Docs folders the other day, and came across the beginnings of what looked to be a story. I vaguely remember writing it, and believe it was during one of my NaNoWriMo attempts. I've decided to take it and use it as a starting point. I'll try to come up with a story on the spot and see what happens.

- - - - -

He pulled into the parking lot, eying his usual spot near the lamppost. There was a car in the space next to it, which seemed odd, as the rest of the lot was mostly empty.

After turning his car off off his car, he glanced to his right, and saw a girl sitting behind the wheel. She was looking down at something, and as he walked towards the restaurant, he could hear her stereo playing.

"Fly me to the moon..."

He opened the door to the restaurant and headed towards his usal table, all the while humming along to the tune. He ordered a coffee and a sandwich, pulled out a book from his coat pocket and began to read. He paused only enough to say thank you when his food arrived, and when he was done, he simply smiled and nodded.

After an hour or so, he looked up long enough to notice someone had sat down across from him, and had started drinking his coffee. The confusion he was feeling must have showed on his face, because she grinned and set down the cup.

"Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I'd be here all night." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small pouch. "Now, tell me that you love me."

The number and variety of thoughts that graced his head was staggering, but all he could produce was a weak, "What?"

She pursed her lips slightly, and replied, "Not exactly what I was going for."

"I'm sorry, but what exactly do you want with me?"

She leaned back in the booth, locking eyes with him. "I want you to tell me that you love me. I want to hear you say it."

He took a sip of water, and stared at the table for a moment before responding. "Well, that might be a problem. Do you want to just hear the words, or do you want me to mean it? Because if you want me to mean it, I'm afraid that won't be possible. I don't know you, so how could I be in love with you?"

"Oh, I want you to mean it. And what does knowing a person have to do with loving them? Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight? You've obviously seen me, so what's the problem?" She tore open a packet of sugar and started stirring it into the coffee. "Just admit you love me, and we'll deal with the getting to know each other part later."

He leaned forward, counting off each item on his fingers. "First of all, I don't believe in love at first sight. Second, even if I did, I think I'd know if it had happened. Third, I could never love anyone who puts sugar in their coffee. So there."

At this, she burst out laughing. "Oh, please! You think love has anything to do with the way I prepare my coffee, or your taste in music, or our favorite color?" She leaned forward, a smirk spreading across her face. "Newsflash, friend: you have as much say in who you fall in love with as you do with who your birth parents are. And as for being able to tell, I just think you don't want to admit that I'm right, not just to me, but also to yourself."

-----

This is, of course, a work in progress. I'll keep working on it regardless, but I am very interested in your thoughts so far. Be brutal! Constructive criticism is a wonderful thing. Compliments are, of course, also welcome...

(all edits made to the story itself will be made with strikethrough to show the full process)

Work In (snail-like) Progress

I haven't posted in a few days, but that doesn't mean I haven't been writing. I'm slowly putting words to a short story, which is taking shape surprising well. I have faith that I'll hate the finished product, because I always do, but no matter what, I'll post it.

Another problem I've come across with writing is that I can't seem to get myself to dig in unless it's right before bed. The end result is that I'm racing against sleep whenever I write, and I can't get much down before my eyes are drooping beyond being usable. Even right now, it's taking considerable effort to not drop everything and climb into bed before finishing this.

Actually, come to think of it, that's all I had for today. I guess this is goodnight!

Ideas are the least of my worries.

As previously mentioned, I have trouble writing. I've sat down in front of a computer, a piece of paper, a tape recorder, and even a typewriter, all with the approximate result of nothing.

It's not like I start with nothing. I've got great ideas for stories. I even outlined one of them down to exactly what happens in each chapter, with character names, profiles, backgrounds, everything. But when it came down to the prose, all that came out was sighs.

I don't need any help coming up with ideas. Everyone's got an idea for a story. Probably more than one, to be sure. I could rattle off about a dozen, but I won't, on the off chance I work out how to put words to them. My problem areas are mostly based around descriptions. Describing the environment, the characters, and the action always gave me problems. I can never put to words what exactly I see in my head. Dialogue tends to be easier, though still a bit rough.

So what's the answer? Do I keep banging my head on the keyboard? Do I move on, stories untold? Currently, I am exploring other medium, and at the moment, I'm looking into writing a comic book. The main problem with that is my inability to draw. Don't have a lick of talent. I'm sure I can find an artist willing to take on my stories, but there's always that problem of someone else drawing what's in your head.

Purple monkey dishwater indeed.

The definition of insanity.

Look at me, I'm blogging! Yes, I've entered into that arena about which no one has ever rightfully said, "No one would want to read about that!" Sounds like the perfect place for me.

I've always wanted to be a writer. Short stories, novels, movie scripts, epic poems, they've all appealed to me on some level, but I was never able to hunker down and really go at it. I always suffered from a kind of writer's block, where I can't slow my thoughts down to pace I can type at. I've tried everything I can think of to no avail. Even alcohol doesn't slow my thoughts down, it just makes them a little blurry and hard to read.

So why am I trying again? Because I'm not very smart.

I've participated in National Novel Writing Month 6 years in a row, never getting past the second paragraph. I've taken no less than three Creative Writing classes at two different schools. I've read essays on writing from several authors, including my hero, Isaac Asimov. There's one thing that they've all said, in one form or another: to be a writer, you have to write. A lot. I'm paraphrasing, granted, but there it is.

So I'll give it another shot. Maybe this blogging thing is more my style. Maybe I'll stick with it this time. Maybe I'll even give that screenplay about birds another go around. Whatever happens, my goal is to have it be said that I tried. I am, however shooting for that succeeding thing.