Writer's Block and Depression

I’ve been struggling to write recently.

This happens sometimes, bouts of writer’s block that can last weeks or months.

I’ve had a couple of people ask me why I haven’t posted anything in a while. Surely the presidential debates are prime subject for me to write about, aren’t they?

It’s true: the debacle that is the current presidential race provides a lot of juicy material, from Trump’s comments about sexual assault to the fact that people somehow still manage to bitch about Hillary Clinton. I have many thoughts on this subject and others.

Why don’t I write them?

People assume I have not tried. I’ve articulated many of my thoughts to friends and family, and I’ve started if not finished several pieces on various topics.

But then, that’s the problem with writer’s block, as anyone who practices writing or other creative exploits: it’s often not the lack of ideas that hinders the process, rather a difficulty in transmitting those ideas onto the page.

The mental stymie extends beyond my writing. My schoolwork has suffered, and I’ve been finding it harder and harder to motivate myself to do simple tasks such as exercise or do my laundry. I find myself questioning the purpose in a lot of my actions. What’s the point in reading this book? Why do I need to go to class today? It’s like a constant existential crisis. Why? Why put any effort into anything? I haven’t been sleeping well. Somehow my late night thoughts consistently wander until I find myself contemplating the inevitable heat death of the universe.

A short while back, Mary Robinette Kowal wrote a really good piece on the relation between writer’s block and depression. I highly recommend everyone give it a read. I don’t often talk about my struggles with depression, but I did write about it in a piece for Beautiful Minds Magazine a while back, and those closest to me are familiar with my situation.

Intellectually speaking, I find the situation quite interesting. Is the writer’s block a product of how I’ve been feeling the last few weeks, or is this bout of depression a product of the creative wall I’ve struck?

I don’t want this blog to get stuck on lengthy ruminations about my state of mind. I have a journal for that. I want the pieces I post here to be productive, stimulating conversation on meaningful and interesting topics.

However, I feel that a bit of an explanation as to why I’ve been quiet the last few weeks is in order. I appreciate the people that read my posts and who stick by me. To those of you reading this right now, you have no idea how much your support means.

Sometimes, the act of self-reflection and confession can be cathartic. I’m hoping I’ll get out of this slump soon. Until then, I really do appreciate everyone’s support and encouragement.

A review of Neil Gaiman’s The View from the Cheap Seats

As someone who occasionally dabbles in words, I appreciate good writers.

Not just people who understands word choice and syntax (an important and often undervalued skill) or the mechanics of plot, but individuals who understand the unique power that words and stories can hold. In just a few marks on the page, writers have the power to change lives and alter realities, create worlds from nothing. Worlds that are very much real.

While many mediums achieve this goal, writing is uniquely collaborative in the way it does so. Without the input of the reader, writing does not work. The reader is imperative to the creation of a written story, and, as such, each reader’s experience with that work will be different. Middle-Earth would not exist without Tolkien, but neither would it exist without readers to interpret his words and bring his world to life in their minds.

No two readings of a novel, short story, or poem are the same.

When a reader engages a piece of literature, they bring to it their own experiences, their own biases, their own preconceptions. The reader cannot divorce themselves from the context in which they are reading, just as the words themselves cannot be divorced from the context in which they were written. The written work, as it exists in the writer’s head, is not the same as it exists in the reader’s head.

The true nature of the written word, any writing, is in constant flux, existing somewhere between the intentions of the author, the interpretation of the reader, and the context in which the words are written and read.

Neil Gaiman understands this fact better than most.

The View from the Cheap Seats is like an extended conversation with Gaiman, one of those discussions that ranges far from the original point, but from which both parties emerge with a far deeper understanding of one another.

In these essays, introductions, and speeches one is given the impression of knowing Gaiman intimately. He ruminates on all aspects of life, from writing and art, to the power of love and death. Rarely does he state his opinions and beliefs outright, yet they come through loud and clear. Gaiman does not condescend to his reader by assuming that they will share these beliefs; he is an observer, merely explaining the world as he sees it.

Incredibly astute in these observations, Gaiman puts things in terms that are often startlingly simple, yet all the more profound for that simplicity. What shines through in all these pieces is an incredible compassion for and insight into the world around him. Gaiman understands people, what drives them, and the profound power of art and writing.

Gaiman understands the potential of story, and he understands the power of words. Indeed, his particular love of writing, driven by a passion for art in all forms, is the message behind all these works. His understanding of art and life’s intimate love affair is unrivalled.

For those wishing to understand the creative mind, this book is perfect. For those wishing to know that they are not alone the world, this book is perfect. In many ways, this book is perfect, one that everyone should read.

Read Gaiman, and be inspired.

Published Work

So for everyone who is interested in reading my creative writing, I recently had my first piece published (by an actual magazine, not just my blog!). This is a personal essay I originally wrote for a creative nonfiction class that I decided to submit for publication in Beautiful Minds Magazine. The piece is an incredibly personal recounting of my struggles with mental health, depicting a particularly dark moment. It was quite difficult to write about, and even more difficult to share.

You can read the piece here:
https://beautifulmindsmagazine.org/2016/07/17/i-cannot-repair/

Let me know what you think! I also want to take this moment to say that I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to read these rambling thoughts I write down. I do harbor dreams of someday making a living as a writer, so it's quite encouraging to know that people are interested in reading what I have to say. I appreciate the support.

As always, thank you for reading.

Cam

Odd fiction

So I recently wrote a piece of short fiction inspired by a conversation with a friend, where one of us said something about "living at the bottom of a cereal box." We sort of both paused and looked at one another, and then she said, "That would make a good story."

So I wrote a story about a child who lives at the bottom of a cereal box.

It's as bizarre as it sounds, but I'm inclined to think it isn't terrible, though it certainly isn't for everyone. It's very short, and doesn't have a conventional plot. However, I'd really love some feedback on this, so give it a quick read and let me know what you think :)

Untitled

This is a story about a child who lived at the bottom of a cereal box.

This child’s name is Samuel, and one can see from the start that Samuel’s story is hardly typical, not in the least because its conclusion has yet to be reached.

You see, most stories begin after the fact. They are a recounting of events past. Samuel’s story is ongoing, and shall be for quite some time.

Right this second, Samuel sits at the bottom of his cereal box. Where the cereal box is, he does not know. He has a vague understanding of where such items end up, but he can never be sure so long as he lives inside the box.

He remembers the children in the factory where he came from, his friends before they were packaged and placed in their own boxes. They always did wonder what would happen once they were placed in their boxes. Samuel remembers the stories they told about the big people who took the cereal boxes into their homes and would collect the children from their cardboard bottoms.

This frightens Samuel. He does not wish to be collected from the bottom of his cereal box. It is a simple, safe place. There is the occasional jostling and shaking, and sometimes he thinks he can hear voices coming from the other side of his box’s wall, but it is an otherwise peaceful existence. Some children are scared by their boxes, by the dark and the oppressive boundaries of their homes, longing for the freedom and possibility of the outside world. But not Samuel. Samuel is a simple fellow, and a simple life holds the most appeal to him.

Hence his fear.

What will he do when the day comes that his simple life is interrupted? He has never experienced the world before, and he would prefer to keep it that way. His friends in the factory always did tell stories of the outside world. Of course, none of them had ever experienced it firsthand; all cereal box children go straight from the confines of the factory to the safe darkness of their cereal boxes. Yet the fact remains that the world has always seemed to Samuel a scary place.

They say that some cereal box children find happiness in the world, when the big people free them into the light. Some big people cherish and love their cereal box children, embracing them and helping them face the terrifyingly boundless new world beyond their safe havens. This thought is intimidating, but it does not frighten Samuel.

What frightens him are the other stories he hears, of children being left and forgotten, stolen from the safety of their boxes only to be tossed aside when the big people grow bored. As Samuel now sits in his box, wondering if he can hear voices on the other side of his wall, he remembers these stories and fights back tears. He must be strong.

The balancing of safety with freedom is one of life’s great paradoxes. As comfortable as Samuel’s cereal box may be, it is indeed a prison. One cannot experience life from the confines of a cereal box, however cozy that box may be.

Samuel does not understand this truth. All that the poor cereal box child can understand is the fear as his world is shaken and voices come from above.

Will he be cherished, in the open world, he wonders? Will his big person care for him, or will he be discarded, as he has heard so many are?

He sees a light above, the outside world seeping in. Samuel is scared.

This is not the end of his story.

Only a page break.

Game of Thrones season six and the fate of THAT character

Well, now I’ve finally caught up… it’s time to talk about Game of Thrones! Warning, this review will contain spoilers for season five of the television show, as well as book five in A Song of Ice and Fire, so if you haven’t gotten there yet, don’t read on! There will also be a section with spoilers for the first two episodes of season six, but I’ll flag it before we get there.

The debate over Jon Snow’s fate has raged for months now, as anyone who has been in contact with social media over the past few months knows. Furious arguments have been made for both sides, with Kit Harrington’s haircut and presence on set being used as supposed proof of his still being alive. Generally, I fell into the “dead is dead” camp, to echo D.B. Weiss’ words in the wake of the tragic onscreen death, despite the fact that I am certain he is alive in the books..

I came to this conclusion after a lot of thought, expending far more mental energy than one ought to expend on a fictional character in a fictional world. I knew the death was coming, yet my initial reaction was certainly one of heartbroken denial (why, Ollie, why???); however, I came to revise that prediction after a little bit of back and forth. While Kit Harrington’s presence on set and his refusal to cut a haircut he purportedly hates are certainly compelling evidence, I simply couldn’t bring myself to believe he was still alive.

Fuck you, Ollie.

 Perhaps this was just the pessimist in me. But with the actor and the show runners insisting so fervently to the contrary, how could the character be alive? With all the anticipation of the season, no manner of bringing Jon back to life could possibly live up to the hype. Furthermore, the show is beginning to branch out farther and farther on its own. This season consists entirely of new material that did not originate with George R.R. Martin’s novels. Showrunners David Benieoff and D.B. Weiss have big shoes to fill on this front. Given the relative certainty of Jon’s return, in one form or another, in the novels, killing him permanently on-screen seemed like the best way to boldly distinguish their adaptation as a unique entity.

I was open to the possibility of my being wrong, but expecting to be proved right. As far as I could tell, this was the smartest direction for the show to take.

Sunday night, we found out the truth…

SPOILERS AHEAD. STOP NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEM!!!!!

Seriously, stop reading.

Now.

Look, I’ll even leave you a massive gap in the page.

What happens from now on is your own doing.

Apparently I was wrong, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Certainly, I leapt for joy like everyone else as Kit Harrington took that frantic gasp and became more than just an on-set cadaver. Yet I had very good reasons for believing he would remain dead, and thought it would be the best thing, artistically, for the show, despite the pain.

I let out an exclamation of joy, just like everyone else.
But was this really a good idea?

To the credit of the writers, they seeded the idea of resurrection as far back as season three with Thoros of Myr’s resurrection of Beric Dondarrion. That Melisandre witnesses this, not to mention continued references to her otherworldly powers, mean that the eventual manner of Jon’s resurrection is not out of place in the show.

My worry is that just because they can do something does not mean they should. On some levels, this decision feels like a bit of a cop out. As I said, Jon’s death would have been an effective way for the show to distinguish itself from the books moving forwards. I think they might have missed an excellent opportunity, and I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, they simply capitulated to common demand. The show’s writers had an opportunity to include the ultimate red herring while enforcing the brutality of their world.

That said, I do think the manner in which the resurrection was handled was pretty good. I can’t wait to see where they go with Jon, how the process changes him. How will he wrestle back control of the Night’s Watch and fight off the impending march of the White Walkers? People have often complained that Jon is not an interesting character, too close to the archetypal fantasy hero. While I have to agree with this, I have never thought it a bad thing. It is grounding for the viewer to have a character who is intrinsically good in a world with so much ambiguity. Jon’s coming of age story is relatable, and he provides someone we can constantly root for even as Tyrion, Arya, and Daenerys dabble in shades of grey.

Also he has great hair.

Basically, the writer inside me says the showrunners made a mistake while the fanboy inside me is crying tears of joy.

As for the rest of the season, I’m interested to see where Melisandre goes from here. What effects do all these events have on her? If Arya’s storyline stays true to the books, it’s sure to be a fun one. Where will Sansa go from here? Whose head will Robert Strong crush next? Can the writers salvage the Dornish clusterfuck they’ve set in motion?

I’m excited to see where this season goes. Do I think that reviving Jon Snow was the best decision? No. Do I think the writers can pull it off? I hope so. I’ll be sure to share some more of my thoughts as the season progresses, so stay tuned!

As always, thanks for reading J

Macbeth

Last night, I went to the Calgary Shakespeare Company's production of Macbeth at the Vertigo Theatre with my mother. It was fantastic! Opening night, and the acting was polished and well performed. The theatre is small and intimate, with everyone seated only feet from the actors, and the directing was superb. Haysam Kadri is superb as Macbeth, and there are many standout scenes. He really captures the madness of the character. I haven't seen Macbeth live before, but I imagine it will be hard to follow after this.

This is the second production I've seen by the Calgary Shakespeare Company, after I saw Othello a year and a half ago. Macbeth was, if possible, even more impressive. If you're looking for an entertaining way to spend an evening over the next few weeks, tickets are available for shows right through to April 16th. But buy them quickly, because they're selling fast. I promise you won't regret it!

On Writer’s Block, Fear, and Insecurity

I’ve been struggling over the past few weeks to come up with the topic of my next blog post. I have a lot of ideas, yet I’ve found difficulty in getting those ideas to coalesce on the page. Whenever I start to write my thoughts down, I find my mind wandering and I’m unable to pin down the issue that previously seemed so clear in my mind. To compound this, I’m constantly distracted by school. With so many papers and readings occupying my mental energy, the temptation to watch Netflix or read trashy thriller novels is sometimes too much. This isn’t to say I’m not doing any writing at all; I’m simply not doing any productive creative writing.

So, today, when I sat down and found myself struggling to find a post topic for the third time this week, I realized I had my topic right in hand: writer’s block.

In many instances, writer’s block is simply a fancy way of saying procrastination – God knows how many times I’ve played Star Wars: Battlefront during times set aside for writing – but this sort of procrastination often originates with fear: fear of failure, fear that your ideas won’t amount to anything worthwhile. It’s disheartening to have a clear image in your head, only to find it unintelligible and poorly composed when put upon the page. Continuing to put time seems almost pointless when the spark of inspiration continually fails to form a tangible product.

I know this is something that any of my writer friends (not to mention artists, photographers, and any other “creators”) can relate to. It’s something we all go through, to varying degrees at one point or another. I’ve gone through many such periods. There have been weeks when I’ve consistently written two or three thousand words a day, only to have that followed by weeks or months of little or no writing at all. This is the nature of creativity. It’s a cycle, wherein the creative juices flow with ease or grind to a painful halt. Rarely is there a middle ground.

Insecurity is perhaps one of the biggest problems that writers contend with.  Often, it is the root cause of writer’s block. What if nobody ever reads your work? Or, worse still, what if people do read your work, only to decide they don’t like it? I think that this constant fear of inadequacy is what stops many writers in their tracks. I often find myself feeling that I am unworthy of the stories I try to tell. Surely there is someone who could do a better job writing my ideas, is there not? Are any of these ideas even original? What will people think?

As a writer, allowing yourself to consciously worry about these things is poisonous. Insecurity grows insidiously, and often starts with questions such as these. You have to simply write without worrying about the consequences. A professor I had last year perfectly summed up the approach I strive for in my writing: “Don’t ever worry about what your reader will think, because nine out of ten things you write will never be seen by anyone but you.” This really struck a chord with me, and thinking about it helps me to write for myself. As much as we would all like to be the next Stephen King or Margaret Atwood, most of us aren’t ever going to get a wide readership. Acknowledging this fact can be strangely comforting.

I’ve found that the key to overcoming writer’s block is to embrace the struggle. Use those fears to fuel new stories and new writing. Write about the insecurity you feel. Let it be a driving force.

During the times I’m not being as creatively productive, I attempt to keep my mind active. I read or reread my favourite books, I listen to a lot of music, and I ponder issues that are important to me. Even if these things do not directly inspire any writing, I’ll often find the ideas and emotions diffuse into later pieces, once the creative wheel has started rolling again. Even as I am not writing, I attempt to stockpile creativity for when I eventually get the ball rolling again.

I don’t claim to be an expert on this topic. There are many reasons for writer’s block and many different strategies for dealing with it. These are just some ideas I’ve come up with after some introspection and discussion with others. I think most of these ideas can apply across the board into all areas of creativity, and I encourage everyone to explore their creative side wherever and whenever they can. Who knows: you might even surprise yourself, just like I did with this blog post!

As always, thanks for reading!

Writing

I've added some new pieces of short fiction to the "Writing" section of this website. For anyone hasn't looked, this is the section where I post my creative writing. The pieces are arranged (mostly) in chronological order, and there are some that aren't too bad (if I do say so myself!). I welcome any and all feedback, and I'd really love it if you guys took a look, as I've worked really hard on them all!

"Future Library"

I heard about the Future Library a few months back, and thought it was quite an inspired idea. Basically, every year a different author is selected to write a manuscript that will be placed in a time capsule and opened in the year 2114; the manuscripts will remain unread by the public until they are all published in that year. One thousand trees have been planted near Oslo, near where the manuscripts are to be kept, and will provide the paper for the books to be printed on.

I think this idea is beautiful.

I tend to be a cynic who thinks the worst of people and human society in general, but the optimism in this idea strikes me quite profoundly. It assumes that humanity will still be around in a hundred years, in some form, and it assumes we will be in a state to publish books and reflect on what would, by then, be history.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought about the people involved. Margaret Atwood, the first author to be selected, will be long dead by the time anyone reads her book. She will never know what people think of her book, never see the reception it receives. The pioneer behind this idea, Katie Paterson, will--unless some kind of medical miracle happens between now and 2114--almost certainly also be dead by the time her idea comes to full fruition.

These individuals, and those who will become involved in the project over the years, are placing their hopes solely in the art they produce, ignoring the insignificance of their own lives and allowing their creations to exist in their own rights. In the end, the 100 manuscripts of the Future Library will function as a yardstick by which to measure the progression of human writing and expression, reflecting the society and species as a whole.

Though I usually cringe when I hear people say phrases like this, I think that the Future Library represents the best of humanity. It represents hope and optimism and it represents art existing beyond a single individual. The idea struck a pleasant chord in the heart of this hardened cynic.


Here's the future library's website and a Guardian article on the project.


As a side note, I feel obliged to mention that I have only ever read one Margret Atwood (gasp!) though I've had the Handmaid's Tale on my shelf for a while. I'll get to it at some point. It's also ironic that I'm listening to Radiohead's OK Computer as a write this post. The album is somewhat of a contrast to the optimistic nature of the Future Library.

Also forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes. It's been a long day.

Maybe soon I'll work up the courage to start telling people about this blog and I'll get some readers other than my family. I've been working on rewriting some of my old short stories to post on here, under the "Writing" section, though I'm deathly insecure about them. Most of my writing has only been read by a select few individuals.

Writing Excuses

So I've been listening to the Writing Excuses podcasts a lot recently. It's a really cool little series, only fifteen minutes long, where a couple of authors discuss their approach to various aspects of writing and the creative process. They are certainly geared towards genre fiction - fantasy and science fiction particularly - just given the background of the authors, but the tips they give about drafting, planning, structure, etcetera are universally useful.

I found about the podcast via reading Brandon Sanderson, who is rapidly becoming one of my favourite authors, but I am ashamed to admit I haven't read any of the other three podcasters' books. I've had one of Dan Wells' books on my shelf for a while but I haven't gotten around to reading it, and I hadn't even heard of Howard Taylor or Mary Robinette Kowal until a few weeks ago.

Even without knowing the authors' works, though, the podcasts are still very helpful and enjoyable. If you're a writer looking for some tips, give them a go!

http://www.writingexcuses.com/

First Post and Ex Machina

I've been agonizing  for a few days now over what my first post should be (months, if you count the time I spent procrastinating about actually setting up the blog). I'm usually a fairly quiet, understated person, and I do my best to go unnoticed. For this reason, having a blog does seem somewhat... counter intuitive. Why should people care what I have to say? Who is even going to read it? What would they think if they did?

Then it clicked. I realized it really didn't matter who read it. Why? Because, at least as of right now, there is nobody reading it! The only people who know about this page as of right now are my family (hi mom!).

They say dance like nobody's watching. I say write like nobody's reading. This is the only way to write. As with all art, writing must come from the heart. Write for yourself, whether you're writing fiction, poetry, essays, or blog posts.

Continuing on this tangent, I decided to share one of the best examples I've read recently of a writer following his own heart, breaking many a convention in the process. Jonathan Ball's Ex Machina examines the nature of fiction, dissecting the relationship between author and reader. Written in the manner of a choose-your-own-adventure, the book is a narrative poem of interconnected philosophical statements and rhetorical questions that act with the reader to create three separate stories. In Ball's book, the reader is as key to the creation of these stories as the author.

Admittedly, I found it very difficult to discern three distinct narratives. The book is short. I read the book cover to cover abut half a dozen times in one sitting, and found a different story each time. There are hundreds of ways to read Ex Machina. The end result is the same. Ball highlights the inherently contrived nature of fiction, by removing the human element. Deus Ex Machina translates from Greek to "god from the machine". Ex Machina removes the god, leaving us with the machine running rampant; we are given half the story, forced to act as god, fulfilling the missing link in order to create a story.

Ex Machina is an incredibly bizarre and unsettling reading experience, but a supremely satisfying one. In my opinion, anything that draws an emotional reaction in the reader, either good or bad, is a success in my mind. Ex Machina is a short book, one you could easily read several times in an afternoon. Seriously, give it a try. You'll thank me for it.