Getting Back on Track With My Brain

These past three weeks, I’ve been having a pretty difficult time getting back, or coming to terms with the side of my brain that connects itself with my writing style and voice, mostly because it kind of went away for the past three weeks, and that was pretty terrifying once I found out. I was at a music camp, and just recently came back three days ago. And I found out this dangerous, disheartening, interesting thing about me. I can’t write in unfamiliarity. I just can’t.

I lived with a roomate, and from the beginning of my life it’s always caused me paranoia having one other person in the same room with me watching me write. It’s almost like disrupting all of my thoughts. Kind of life brain stuttering. I can’t keep it under control.

So for a few weeks there, I wasn’t able to write something that felt like I was writing it. I barely wrote a real sentence. I stopped thinking of ideas and basically stopped thinking, because at a new music camp, miles, states away from home, you’re not thinking to much, but feeling, if you know what I mean. I was also worried about meeting new people, working with amazing musicians, getting along with my roomate. Luckily, it all worked out in the end, and I was able to get used to the place. I started to write more freely by the third week, once I got comfortable, but there was something inside me that still felt guarded, and I still felt like my brain was being choked from being itself.

And then I knew what I was missing. I was missing the roots of my life. My entire existence and my source of thoughts and myself. And that was my family. Yeah. I realized that I needed them to write. To write real stuff. I needed my home.

That’s why I can NEVER, EVER write in public. The public is always a new unknown. I need a place I’m familiar with, people I’m familiar with to write, and even while I was away, I was completely unfamiliar with myself, because I was too shy to be myself in the first two weeks. I liked being alone. Plus there was a great view of the mountains and the rest of the little downtown city from my room.

The thing is, I’m just trying to slowly stumble my way through writing again. Thinking up ideas and understanding my opinions and all that stuff. These following blog entries are going to be more bad than usual, but it’s going to help me find my writing again. It’s going to inspire me again. It’s going to make me feel myself again. I really need that now, because I’m more lost than usual these days, but being back home feels easily natural, so I think I’ll be okay.

That’s it for today.

Random thought of the day: Pears rhyme with bears.


The TIME Article that Disappointed

Today, I decided to go on TIME online. (And the following monstrosity is what came out of it)


It’s not a new event in my life. I do have my own moments of trying intellectualism, but the thing is, today: I was disappointed.

And it’s not even a good thing to be disappointed about, but oh well…now it’s going to be a blog entry.

So as I was rolling my eyes through the screen, I stumble upon an article titled, “The Problem With Celebrities Who Tell Us How To Live”.

Now, every human makes first thought judgement instinctively, it can’t be helped, but it can be put aside. So when I read that title, I was thinking, “WTF. The problem with celebrities telling us how to live is that they even think they should be telling us how to live, because the average human life no longer coincides with the glitz and terror of the average celebrity life. We are no longer EQUAAAAALS.”

Yeah. But that’s not exactly the case. That’s not the case at all. Maybe there is just no case…because I forgot it at home, now I’m going to miss my plane just to go back and get it, and then get fired, and then the world will en—OKAY, that’s enough, back to the point.

Again, the article title was “The Problem With Celebreties Who Tell Us How To Live”. Perhaps the entire article should have stopped there and we all could have our own little inner bursts of rage.

See, when I think of a celebrity, I think of the haunting trails of paparazzi, the endless Loreal Shampoo commercials, the rejuvenated, perfect skin, diamond shiny faces of Gwenyth Paltrow, Jennifer Lopez, Mario Lopez, Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, all those boring people, plus the added flash of the cameras. Can’t have a celebrity without the cameras am I right?

I mean, why do they think they want to suggest life mantras to us, when their life is just not like ours anymore. They live in a world of constant attention, required beauty, weekly haircuts, flashing cameras.

Every time I see a celebrity cook book, I think, “What is this life? Why the freak do I want Gwenyth Paltrow telling me how to eat? I can do whatever I want hoe and eat a freaking cornbread if I WANT TO.

When I started reading the TIME article, it went into this statistical rant that just wasn’t what I was looking for. I was looking for pointless rant regarding the difference between the everyday person’s life, and a celebrities life.

The thing about celebrities, is that they go out and get themselves branded a celebrity, or are forced into becoming a celebrity because of whatever reason. Why can’t they just be really great actors, or musicians, or singers.

Another thing that confuses me, is the fact that some of these celebrities by the most expensive, bat-shit crazy huge houses on the planet, and then the next day go to charity event for cancer, or some third world country.

But what I don’t understand most is when they say things like, “Live life to the fullest”. I’m living my life sir, to it’s fullest current capability of breath, okay? Also, you’re a hoe. Just kidding…

I respect and admire a lot of known people, for the beautiful stories that they tell, the music that they make, the stands that they advocate for. I don’t respect the celebrity life, because that’s not really in the range of what it’s like to have goals, or what’s it’s like to have doubts or insecurities anymore. That life mainly concentrates on good shampoo and rejuvenating creams, and parties, and also required make-up always, wish is a definite no-no. It doesn’t seem like a nice life, even though it’s made out to be. It seems fake, so that’s really the problem with celebrities telling us how to live our lives. Because they’re own lives are just not real anymore, as sad as that is to say. When one reaching that point, or even feeling in life, the feeling of a celebrity, it’s hard to return back to the ground because your head can get so big with the attention you’re just way too high up off the ground. I see that in a lot of girls and guys at my school, who really believe that they are better than everyone else just because they have a seemingly pretty face and a group of people to hang out with on the weekend. Except they’re not that pretty and the people they hang out with are lame, at least in my opinion.

The good thing is, they’re aren’t really that many celebrities anymore these days, or ones that I know about, because people who reach high levels of fame don’t want that life. Who would?

I don’t want to come across as envious of this life, because honestly I would think celebrities would be envious of our lives. We have so much more of a challenge controlling our weights, reaching our goals, discovering what we want, going through constant doubt and insecurity. As terrible as this life is, it’s freaking amazing, loving something with complete sincerity and accomplishing things not for attention, but for the love of creating something new to add into this world. Can you imagine Kim K telling me to work hard and accomplish my dreams? No.

I don’t think anyone could stand being a celebrity forever. It looks tiring, annoying, and pointless. Actors don’t become actors to become famous, at least the real good ones. Musicians don’t become musicians to become super famous. I mean, people always want to be recognized, sure, not all people, but most want to be recognized for doing the work that they love and sharing it with others. And a few get that deserved recognition, because they worked for it, and they had the talent for it.

I’m kind of done with this topic though. Seriously, I find no point anymore in even talking about celebrities. Why did I in the first place…I don’t know.

TCWT July Blog Chain: The Lame Origin of My Writing Life

Oh man. I’m hours late on writing this, but technically, it’s still the 13th…but still, there’s no excuses. Anyways, this prompt for this months blog chain is so, so, so…I don’t know. My writing journey beginnings are so lame and artificial, because at first, the only reason I wanted to be a writer was because I got really good grades on all my structural exam essays in elementary school. And then once high school started all those ambitious accomplishments of getting the best grades on all my essays went down the drain, because high school writing apparently does not go along well with my writing style. Oh, by the way, the prompt is as follows:

“What’s one thing you wish you knew when you started writing?” 
Yeah, so as I said before, my journey as a writer truly, phenomenally started the moment I got that perfect 4 on my fourth grade essay about a park that I apparently really really liked. The passionate origins, am I right? 
Yeah, well, I was mega lame then (still am) and had no idea how to really think or feel with both my brain and my heart or what made up the world and the impact writers made to the world. To be fair, I was in elementary school, and all you’re trying to do in elementary school is be a kid and have fun. Even breathing isn’t a priority because in elementary school you don’t quite have that monumental realization of the significance breathing oxygen into your very lungs is to your life. And then my dad taught me about success, and Harvard, and goals, and a future, and then little young me became obsessed with being the smartest, bestest, straight A’s kid in class. So when I figured out that writing was my most likely available leeway into success, at the age of 9, yes 9, I decided I would become a writer, ONLY because I got that perfect score on that one elementary school essay. 
Besides all that mumble jumbo above, the POINT that I’m trying to make is, that I wish I knew, or acknowledged what writing made me feel, and the impact it made in my life, and the impact it could make in others. In other words, I wish I knew that I loved writing when I starting writing, rather than thinking I only loved writing because my fourth grade teacher said I was a good writer…on one essay… about the stereotypical park around the corner. 
Actually, I really loved that park, and it wasn’t around the corner. It was in downtown Austin; comparable to the greatest sections of Central Park. So, before I even realized it, writing and stories and words and thoughts, all that mesmorizing confusing stuff meant so much to me, but I never really thought about that when I first started writing. 
And I guess that because when you first start to write, it almost comes instinctively, so there’s no time to think about how much it really means to you, or how huge a part it will become of your life. And then you enter the deep dark horridly revolutionary stages of teenage-hood, where you actually start to develop an independent, opinionated brain capable of making both stupid and not so stupid decisions, and you realize, writing is the most insanely freeing, awesome, LEGEND-wait for it-DARY thing ever, because now you come to terms with weirdness. You come to terms with reality a little but more, and you come to terms with failure, success, love, bad things, good things, human feelings, and you realize that writing, or really, storytelling, is how you express all that, AKA the feels. 
So yeah, I wish I knew what writing meant to me earlier. What I do like to look back on are the glimpses of moments where I’m at my desk, writing in my own  little notebook, 6 years young, about whatever I was thinking, because I realized that I could do that. When you begin writing, it’s really all a series of scenes that go kind of like this:
Brain: “I’m feeling something weird right now. And I really want to do something with that. Hey! Look, there’s a pencil and paper. Now putting thoughts on paper, because I can.”
(Minutes later)
Brain: “I like this thing. I think I want to keep on putting words on paper, with a pen or pencil…..forever. Because I can.”
I like writing. It makes me feel human again. I don’t do well in real life as a functioning human being when I take unintended hiatuses from writing. Like, if I go one day without writing something, I don’t even know what life is and try my best to maintain a sort of composure that is socially acceptable among the human race. Keeping it all inside doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it works for anyone. Even God can’t hold all the feels inside, and as a result came: The Bible. God/Jesus: Probably the most famous writers/storytellers ever. And then Shakespeare. 
I’m going off topic. Sorry. But I think I got the message through…maybe. I don’t know. The thing is, I know and understand what writing means to me now, and that’s a good thing.

Check out all the other blogs this month. They’re probably most likely a lot cooler.

July 2014 blog chain prompt/schedule:
Prompt: “What’s one thing you wish you knew when you started writing?” 
24th – – The topic for August’s blog chain will be announced.