the literature that makes a point to tell people of evil (and other disgusting things) that exists can’t attract me…
because we already know that evil exists
what it needs to be telling is that evil can be dealt with, destroyed or overturned

and overall, I prefer to read about things I want more in my life, than about those I don’t really want to exist in it at all

got stuck in a very silly place in a middle of a chapter

staring into the wall trying to think how hair different to my own would behave in a world without hair products
seriously

exaggerated contrast between good and bad, some strength, some bravery, some love, some steel, and horses, and some beautiful free lands, preferably with some snow, is what I need to return my peace of mind
and balance
and writing

I find it interesting, that when my brain is tired it is much easier to create new languages than to remember any existing ones

I give up on reading good books more often than I’d like to admit.

Because some more pain is not what I’m looking for in life right now.

I also prefer books that try to give and create things that our world is missing. The good kind.

Not focus and show us the worst things that do exist or can exist in our world.

I’m sure there are people who wouldn’t know that they existed if they didn’t read about them, and that’s why those kind of books should exist, but…

…there is just never enough good, and too much of negativity and people are not focusing on the right things.

「客がいてもいなくても、同じライブができる」、同じものを作れる、と言える人が好き。
もてたいとかじゃなくて、これが売れそうだからじゃなくて、ファンが喜びそうから、じゃなくて… 自分自信の為に自分を表現する人が好き。
作家もそうだけど。売れるからじゃなくて、今、これは自分の為に書かなければならないから、書く…という人が好き。

Heaving the right book with me, helped me through every one of those times
when I felt it was far too much to go through by myself,
when I would have given up otherwise.

And that is the bigger part of the reason why I still try to write.
Despite every contravention.

Throwback mood brings us to a translation of an old lj post from 9 years ago.

The setting: back then I was spending most of my time with two of my friends (male), A and S, both slightly older than me, and both equally crazy, though in different ways.

The post:

`b

So, S seems to be having the PMS
He’s had it for few weeks already. But I’d say yesterday was the climax.
Everything annoys us, things fall from our hands all the time, cards (money variety) get lost, corners (especially those sharp ones) rush to meet us, ramen jumps out right onto the fresh white shirt. It’s the whole carnival, let me tell you.
He also calls me, and forgets that he did. And doesn’t say anything. Or even better – at the same time that he calls me something gets dropped on the floor again, and I have to sit and listen to the clatter, boom, clang-clang, thunk, and the cascades of swearing that follow, quietly wondering how bad is the damage this time.
On this note I also banned them both from touching any knives in my kitchen. I mean it’s bad enough when I’m the one swinging them around, and with how things are, there will soon be knives flying around as well.
Besides, after the ‘A and the Melon’ incident, everyone gets the uncontrollable giggles when A even approaches the kitchen anyway.

Oh. There’s also this new strange “game” we seem to be playing. It goes a little like this: “yeah, so I’ll try to control the amount I’m smoking, but in order for me to control it you’ll be the one keeping my cigarettes” and “nooo, I won’t let you wake up before we do this time! I’ll wake up first and prove it to you!” (and he did, all complete with the ‘BOOOO!’ from behind the corner first thing in the morning)
…the problem is that it’s me who is putting this all into words. He just does it. With silent determination.
†††

Comments:
My mother:  What’s the ‘A and the Melon’ incident? Did you people eat melon from the floor? ))

Me: no, it was nothing as bad as that, but me and S still almost quietly died. The three of us were watching the tv. When suddenly A jumps up and announces “Lets eat the melon!” and stomps towards the kitchen. Me and S say “Ok, lets” and, thinking that he went to cut it, sit and wait. A did. Cut it. He cut it exactly in half, humbly picked one of the halves, a table spoon… and came back with it to his own chair. And begun eating, innocently blinking at our climbing up eyebrows and dropping jaws. In the end, because I dropped under the table in a fit of silent hysterical laughter, S had to be the one to go to the kitchen to cut the remaining half in slices. Anyway, when A walks towards the kitchen we either sit and hold our breaths to see what he’ll do or rush after him and take everything away and out of his hands… because it generally goes like this: “Slam, kwonk, thump-thump, boom-boom, shmack…(thoughtful silence for few seconds) HOW DOES THIS WORK??? …bonk.… Sh*t!! …ooohhh… Aaaa! smack.”

sometimes when I write and brainstorm, I write a mixed-language word down somewhere in the middle of a sentence, and later look at it and have no idea whatsoever what it was supposed to be or mean

and by ‘sometimes’ I mean too often for my comfort

the feeling I have in my head right now
is that there are writing thoughts,
wriggling their tails and peeking out their heads,
I can feel them there, but I can’t reach to them
because there’s a brick laying on top of them
and my eyes burn from inside from its weight

Writing fanfiction is like borrowing someone else’s stage and props.
I’m saying something obvious.
But still, I think it is the biggest reason for why it is so much easier then writing your own thing.

Because, when you write a fanfic, it feels like you can stand in the world that already exists on its own and just describe what you see. You may of course move the figures-actors in your own way, or add the new ones, or mix the world with something else. But still, whatever you do, it plays out on the already existing stage, with engine well oiled and running.
Whereas, when you write your own, it feels like something in between writing a programming code or building a machine from 0 without a manual… you try, and change it, and re-arrange it, and add piece by piece, hoping that one day it will move… because it needs to work, before you can actually stand comfortably and see your story play itself out in it.

Maybe it’s easier if you chose to base it in your everyday world

For me this is the hardest thing, to make what I see work when put in words.

All the serious writing stops the moment when instead the intended “You’re too perceptive for your own good”, my hands conspire with autocorrect and I leave
“You’re too perceptive for your own goose” on the page.
And then I re-read it and imagine it.