Here's my issue with fiction--I always get sick of my characters. If I have to write a novel slowly and live with these people for hours at a time, I start to get irritated with them almost like I do with my kids when they are being snippy. But with the kids, I easily come back to loving them and appreciating their unique qualities--whereas I just want my characters to go away and leave me alone.
If I write short pieces like I've done for Dive's exercises, I can tolerate my characters a little more. In 500 words and a few revisions, I can be done with them. They don't hang around and start to stink like shrimp left too long in the refrigerator. I don't have to worry about their every move or where they will go next or if they are really thinking their thoughts or if I am imposing my own on them. I can dump them from my hard drive and just let them live on Blogger, which is what I have been doing. And if Blogger suddenly disappears, I won't have to hold extensive wakes for them.
I am not being authentic here--if Blogger went under and I lost all my blogs, I would cry. I realized I have been at this for about three years now. That is a long time.
BTW, does anyone know what it means when the piece of birthday cake shows up on the Blogger icon on your dashboard? Is that MY birthday or just Blogger's?
Anyway, this problem I have with getting sick of my characters is nothing new. Since I was quite young, I have tried to write novels. Always the same thing--sick of those people who appear on the pages. Of course it was a lot easier to write long stories then. I hand wrote everything in scrawling, young cursive.
My old high school friend Kim recently wrote to me and said she found a "Kathy Mercurio original" called "To My Dying Child" in her memorabilia piles. It was long...hand written. For the life of me, I can't remember what that story was about. She is going to scan it for me. That should jolt my memory. I can go back and see first-hand what an angsty teenager I was. I can't believe she actually held on to that thing!
Well, maybe I can understand. I hold on to everything in the world, too. It's a way of connecting with the past because I know I will forget and I don't want to. That's another fear I've had since childhood--forgetting what it was like to be a child. I wish I could find that 6th grade diary I used to keep.
Another off topic: there's an ad at church for a trip they are taking to India for 8 days. They will be visiting villages. This is my dream. There is some kind of truth I am looking for, and I know it's in India. I know I can't go, though. It will be too expensive. But that truth I am seeking...I know it is nested in Hinduism, just about the oldest religion in the world. I need to get closer to it but can't.
Another off topic--I lost two more pounds. This makes the loss somewhere around 70 pounds, depending on when I started counting the weight loss. If I start at my highest weight, I am down 72 pounds. This makes sense because that's what I lost last time between 2004 and 2005 when "the thing" happened and I began to gain it all back.
I saved all my clothes and they fit again. I'm glad I didn't get rid of them. I gave Erika the ones I would no longer wear, and I've kept the others. I have invested in some better casual work clothes, but I have suits I would eventually like to wear. I just need the occasion. I don't want to wear them every day, mind you. Just once in awhile.
I think I would like to lose about 15-20 more pounds. We'll see. I am not putting pressure on myself at this point because if I do, I will get neurotic and slip into that "it's never enough" mindset which is anorexic kind of thinking. I easily tend that way.
See and part of my writing issue is I get off track. Stupid ADHD. Poetry works for me because it is focused, concise and usually brief. I can go back without my mind wandering. Reworking my novel is going to be a bitch.