Stumble Upon "Start Writing Fiction"/The Fear...

If someone types a blog and no one is around to see it, does the blog exist?

I'm going to come clean with whoever, if anyone, is reading this. If this is a personal blog then let's get personal. Why not? I have a tendency to cover my reality under a facade of fiction, meaning , however abstracted or embellished, generally my fiction is the way I am feeling. I just can't express it any other way. I know I am not very articulate, my tongue is clumsy, it has a slight lisp and it doesn't appreciate the difference between 'th' and 'f' it is occasionally lazy and cannot be bothered pronouncing 'r' ('w') or 't'. My mind clearly suffers some kind of embarrassment and decides to turn away from the situation leaving me lost for words, even dumbfounded. In conversation, I am not articulate. But when I write, my mind is there. It is my body that switches, it goes into autopilot, lets my mind take over. Free flow. A lot of the time I cannot remember what I wrote until I reread it. And despite the occasional grammar mishap, or the fact that most of the time I cannot spell, which I can only put down to a possible tendency towards dyslexia, it does flow quite well. Generally negative emotion is translated into a form of expression, but sometimes you feel so down that it is difficult to persuade the self into any form of action, or expression. It becomes a silent scream, which I then swallow, down to my stomach where it turns to sick. Now I am going to spit it out. I am going to stand on the top of a mountain and spew, and scream. I'm gonna write it on here. Honestly. How it is.

I have not been having the best of times lately. Some people leave university ready for the world, ready for the rest of their lives, keen and eager. Eyes wide open, full of naivety and arrogance. Others are ripped from it's womb kicking and screaming and absolutely terrified. I am the latter. I suffer from a loss of perspective, the long term caused by irreplaceable feelings of loss, loss of friendship, of community, of appreciation, of home. In the long term, there is a future, it is, much like the Orange slogan, bright. There is plenty to look forward to but it is too far away and it is covered by a blanket of day in day out minimum wage, loneliness, and time. It is important after university to recover, mentally, emotionally and financially. Unfortunately, there is no greater medicine than time. Time cures everything, sickness, loss, love, lust, anxiety, fear, and inevitably life itself. Like most medicines, time has side effects. Time's is itself. It requires patience. It requires that you wait and wait and wait, a process which can drive you crazy.

So here I am. Waiting.

Tonight, I sat at my desk, (situated all too uncomfortably with in a built in wardrobe) back turned to the the world, desperate to escape. They found water on the moon. Could it be a chance to escape the insanity of humanity? Start again. Imagine that. Alone. Give the mind infinite space. None of the noise that comes with life on Earth, consumption, manipulation, war, celebrity, emotional relationships, mortgages, poverty, illness, medicine, overpopulation, morality, politics, social status, physical relationships, wealth, global warming, culture, slavery, survival, violence, law, ownership, enter other noises here.................................................... It is endless. Then to be sat there, alone in your own kingdom, on your own world surrounded by silence, you would turn your face back to that little planet you used to call home and it would send you crazy. You would miss the noise. You would crave it. You would become jealous of that planet and all it's noise. All it's problems. All it's frailty. You would want it back. So you would either leave, or transform the moon until it was in the same condition, if not worse. You would use up all it's resources (cheese) and destroy it. No matter how many light years away you travel, it will still be there, there is no starting again, only continuation, self development, self help. Life is a struggle on every level, emotional, physical, mental, survival. It is a challenge, and nobody knows if it's rewards are worth it, but we still carry on, like salmon in the current of a gushing stream. And we struggle, and we wait it out. Wait and wait and wait.

I am waiting.


Something will happen eventually. I was thinking of this, wondering whether my patience would pay off. Whether all the things I have been looking into will bear fruitful. I have been fearing the seeds of my future. I have been craving significance. I was wanting someone to pat me on the back once again and say actually, you are quite good at this, at something, at anything. This was a confidence boost after many years of generally being told I wasn't. So I guess I was missing the attention, I guess this is attention seeking. Maybe it is, but it is also therapeutic, my tears are dry. Whether anyone reads it or not. I'd rather not. It's quite embarrassing to show yourself naked to the world, that is why we wear clothes (or are clothing the cause of the embarrassment?). I have journal's where this type of stuff gets written then closed, or developed, or mutates into a new form of expression. So why type it on my blog?

Hurricane Katrina

I have been wanting to be a superhero of late. I have heard from distant friends who are unhappy, or have experienced something terrible, and been desperate to step in. To save them. Like a parent. But I am too far away. So this, in a way, is my first attempt at a superhero act. So they all know that they are not alone. That I often think of them. Then to anyone else who can relate to this, you don't have to be a graduate, you could just be terrified about the future (who isn't?) Everyone gets scared. Everyone has a facade. Some are easier to see through than others. There was one person who I thought had no facade, I found out just how thickly it was plastered over herself when I witnessed it crack, sat next to a pool of her blood. Some people will never allow themselves to be read. Some people will lead you on. Some people will touch you. Some people will turn their backs. Some people will embrace you. Some times, there isn't anyone but yourself that can save you. All that you can do is wait and hope that time turns fear into excitement. Change is inevitable. All ends start again.


I was looking at my computer, twitter lit up my room. A brief glimpse at my friends. They all continue to live, to have lives, are surviving. We continue to live separately. A tear began to roll. All I could think was "What the hell am I doing? What am I going to do? Is this it? Is this life? Is this living? Is this my life now? What happened? What am I going to do?" I reached to my mouse to search for a distraction. I hit the 'Stumble Upon' button on my screen. Stumble upon is a tool bar which randomly materializes a decent website based on your interests - it is perfect for procrastination, boredom, and distraction. It randomly generated a writing page. It's title screamed at me "START WRITING FICTION". My lips curled into a smile. And that's really the reason why I stated writing all this. I just wanted to tell you about how I hit the stumble upon button and it told me to start writing fiction. I wanted to share that small moment with you. How everything else came to be in this post I have no idea. I guess I just had a lot to get off my chest.

But that's enough about me.

I apologise to any soon to be graduates that I may have just terrified. It's not all doom and gloom. Make the most of the moment you are in. Worry about the rest later...

This post is dedicated to everyone who was Design and Art Direction class of 09. The final year of DandAD, of Undercroft.


Lucy Vann said...

Mandi you have described the feeling perfectly. Oh man. And you made me smile and laugh. (cheese resources). Time heals all wounds. Except the belly

ps. the computer just asked me to type the word 'poogra' to prove i'm not a robot. POOgra?!

Libby Scarlett said...

Mandi, you made me cry.
I have written (far less well) of this over and over.

I am lost. Without the people who made everything make perfect sense. Without the course that made me good at something. I almost don't want time to heal what we had - I just (immaturely) want it back.

You are a superhero. Especially to me this Thursday afternoon.

I am with you as we wait...