~~ mopey meta, man. oh yeah.

[reenka]

I keep talking in third person, even if I say "I" all the time. I pretend that if I try to take the higher ground, I can magically explain everything and it'll be okay. Except it won't. The questions remain.

I feel things-- I read stories-- I like them or dislike them. But then my mind goes over it and over it, asking "why". And it's like, the person who answers the constant whys isn't exactly me. It's some construct of my mind, imbued with my opinions but stripped of a lot of my personality-- if that makes sense. Why is it so important to me that I like -this- story but not -that- story? And why do I keep asking myself that question? See, there I go again. It's layer upon layer of distancing and third-person observation of myself, all the time.

I used to think that this meant I should be a scientist-- something in psychology, maybe. It's like every story is a mirror of both myself and the world, and yet I use them to escape both. I think it's all about that certain emotional charge some writers have-- they're still writing about relationships, the same characters in relationships, even, but it's different. It's not as empty. It's got its own heart, not just something implied in the characters. It -glows-... warm and filling and -real-. People don't seem as real to me, a lot of times-- they don't give off this heavy of a burn. It's like... they're not on all the time.

A good story is like falling in love-- there's just you and the world you're drowning in, the emotional landscape you recognize, that sense of danger and safety all mixed together. Music and art can be like that, too, except it doesn't engage my conscious mind as much-- it draws me out rather than occupying me, weighting down my mind with foreign ideas and emotions at once. Right now, I'm in love. I feel like the world is far away, and I'm just looking for that same high of -touching- something real again, the way I did with -that- story. Reading another story about the same characters-- even a good one-- that doesn't always give me the same rush-- which is just... frustrating.

That's probably why the right sort of intense language & the right characterization are most important to me. Plot isn't something I can get emotionally attached to. It's background, it's a mental exercise, like a strategy game. Maybe that's why I read love stories more than a lot of things. I've always used stories the way most people use rock music, I guess-- as an emotional outlet. It just has to hit the right notes, has to get to me the right way, has to give me the same high.

It's funny, thinking that I'm often seen as a thinker, as someone who-- I dunno-- processes things logically. I guess I do. I take the tangle of emotions and try to untangle obsessively, just 'cause it's something to -do-, to distract myself, to make the whole riot of feeling more bearable. I think because otherwise I'd drown. But my constant question is "why", not "how". The people who ask "how", "when", "where"-- those are the usual sorts of thinkers. Order in the chaos of one's thoughts-- that can be therapeutic. Is therapeutic. Without the pretense of analytical thought, I'd probably have thrown myself off a building by now, music & art & writing be damned. There's only so much drugging you can take before you burn up, I think. But. Anyway.

This reminds me of the question going around LJ at one point: what's your One Story that you always seek out or write. Mine would probably have something to do with the way our passions can save us or destroy us or both. Something about how important it is to let go and really live out your dreams, accept the fear and -do- it. The choice between fear and passion-- stories about choosing passion. That's what I read, anyway. It doesn't have to be a lover's passion-- it can be passion for knowledge or magic or art. I think most of my stories are about how passion can nearly destroy you, and the stories I seek out are about how passion can save you, because that's what I want to believe.

Funny, because I don't see how passion can save -me-. From all indications, it's discipline and hard work that'll let me have what I want, whatever that may be. It's not enough to -want- things, that's the lesson life teaches you. It's not enough to -feel- things. It's especially not nearly enough to -know- things. You have to -do- things. And those things have to be the -right- things-- not just passively creative-- they have to be actively goal-oriented. Life laughs at dreamers who don't fight for their dreams.

Anyway. This bout of angst brought to you by the letters B and S, and way too much angsty smut for my peace of mind-- and also the knowledge that I'm procrastinating to the point of criminality. And now every time I say "angst" I hear layha saying "it's what's for dinner" in that H/D vid. Okay, now I'm laughing. Ah, the cycle continues.

Comments

[failing-light.livejournal.com]

Sorry to randomly pop up in your journal, but I was surfing lj and this really hit home with some of the things I've been thinking about today. I was going to pull out specific things to respond to, but there's too much to choose from so I think I'll just go. . .

I read something earlier today that said, 'We read in search of more life.' And I think that's it exactly. Stories can pull you in, take you inside the language and the characters so that you are quite literally alive inside the story. And this adds depth to your life, these things become a part of you, part of your emotional experience if not your physical one. For someone who is a Reader -- whatever that may be -- there is not only this one world, this one life, there are as many worlds and lives as there are books that can draw you into them. And that's the desire, I think, that's the pull that stories have over us -- this desire to live as deeply and as intensely as possible.

And I think this is all deeply connected with passion. Because what is passion but living with intensity? It's easy to lose that in everyday life, easy to slip into complacency and routine and abstraction. But stories -- the stories that you're talking about, the stories with heart -- are born out of the author's passion, the author's connection with these characters and this story. So maybe it's easier to find that in books than it is in real life because it's already there for you? If you can only access it?

Hmm, not sure if any of that made sense, but thank you for making me think about this. May I friend you? I've seen you around before and you always have such interesting things to say. . .

--Autumn, who also asks "why"

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Kind of oddly, the first thing you've made me think of with "the author's passion" was that maybe that explains why I keep falling a little bit in love with the suthors of my favorite stories. It -is- their passion that underlies it all, and if I feel a connection with the story, I feel I have a connection with the writer, and in fandom I get to -know- the writer often enough, so it's even more real. Visceral, even. Okay, so I've never actually had a thing for anyone 'cause of what they wrote, but it's a special connection, definitely~:) Eheheheh, I'm feeling so sane right about now ^^;

I definitely know what you're talking about, though it's hard to say anything right now 'cause my brain is so very fried. "In search of life". I like that. I've always been, I think, in search of another life. I've wanted to escape into books, -literally-. It burned me for -years- that there was no way for me to go to another planet, or to fairyland, or even to Sunnydale. I've always wanted -this- life and -that- life to merge. I wanted to -live- that life, not just... in my imagination. I hate the separation, the constant knowledge that things -could- be different-- brighter, deeper, more intense-- but they -aren't-. Or maybe they are, but not for me.

I think... you know what the funny thing is? I think life -is- intense-- more intense-- for people who don't think as much. Who just -do- things-- who go out there and interact. The dreamers are mostly doomed by their own dreaminess to spend their life at the other side of the looking glass, their very reflection stopping them. Heh.

I think... it's just... if you already live inside your head, then books allow you to feel less trapped-- to feel alive. It's... it's like virtual reality. Your whole approach to living would have to change, if you wanted to escape this whole prison of ideas. We are mostly trapped by who we are rather than what we do-- read or not. Or at least, the things we -don't- do say as much about us as the things we do actually do.

Anyway. Not sure if that made sense, heh. My head really hurts. Waaayyyyyy too much B/S fic with little else for -days-. I'm falling over. But! No need to ask about friending me, man. Is a good thing, generally, especially seeing as this is a public journal. Heh.

~reena, who asks "why not" just as often :>

[failing-light.livejournal.com]

Haha, I definately know what you mean about falling in love with authors. . .but the less said about that, the better :)

And I've often thought myself that life is more intense for people who don't think as much. In fact, I've often found myself frustrated by the feeling that I'm at one remove from life, that I somehow can't get out of connecting to things as story and over-thinking things and just LIVE. But then, would I really want to trade the breadth of experience that you can live in stories for a narrower life that is more easily lived intensely? Isn't that a challenge in itself, to find a way to do both, to have my cake and eat it too?

I think we've all wanted to live in Fairy Land or Middle Earth or Narnia or Sunnydale. Isn't it interesting that those barriers seem so much more permeable when we're younger, before we learn to question and interpret and analyze? We lose something, I think, when we learn those fine distinctions between fantasy and reality. When suddenly Narnia is no longer at the back of the wardrobe and Sunnydale cannot be found on any map of California. It's the eternal question of innocence vs. ignorance. Isn't it better to be able to ask the questions than to live an unexamined life? Or is that question already flawed, because we're predisposed to say yes since that's the kind of life we already live?

. . .this all made sense at some point, I swear. Existential questions at 2 in the morning -- generally a recipe for disaster.

And it just feels odd to go around friending people without their consent. *shrugs* It's the word that's at fault I think; friendship is such a relational word that it seems strange and stalker-ish not to ask. Or maybe that's only late-night insanity too. . .

--Autumn, who thinks maybe there are no right answers, only right questions

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

It's weird how in stories I tend to want things I both -can't- get and don't -want- to get in real life. I mean, maybe that's the function of fantasy, but it's complicated 'cause I've always wanted to live in stories, too. So I was just thinking that... the sorts of romances I go for tend to be complementary, right-- fire & ice, good & evil-- some sort of opposites attracting thing. And yet... the people I seek out... my greatest pleasure is knowing that there are people -like- me. Which just seems so narcissistic and pointless, somehow, y'know? Like, if I spent loads of time with someone who's so much like me it's like, we can pass for each other, what's the point? It's like being alone.

Of course, that's taking it a bit far, I admit :> And yes, that was a complete tangent~:)

As far as living the examined life.... Well.... Yes, it -is- about balance, I think. On the other hand, too much balance can become boring, heh. So. Some part of stubbornly thinks that it'd all be okay if I allowed to be creative for a living. Be around people who understood me-- a circle of friends. Extend my little bubble into a -life-, something I could exist in because it stretches beyond just myself. There is a niche there for us, if we are brave and -take- it.

I know what you mean about reason destroying one's childhood beliefs. I mean, that's what happens to everyone-- it's -supposed- to happen. I dunno if it's so much a question of innocence, necessarily, because if you retain the ability to question reason itself, then something remains. I don't mean faith-- like faith in god or something. I mean... you could still... see reality in layers. And there's a layer of bricks and stones and maps, and then there are the looking-glass layers. Even though-- feeling they're there isn't enough, and believing with all your heart gets harder and harder. Gets scarier, with that specter of madness hanging over your head. Go too far into the dark waters, and you drown. There's a whole ocean of chaos and magic in one's unconscious mind and it isn't kind.

"Friending" is a bad term. Though I admit I generally don't add people I don't like~:) But I often don't add people I -do- like, 'cause they're... well... boring. What can you do? They are! They're wonderful writers, or beautiful people, but-- just-- they're boring in their journal! Mostly because most people don't talk about anything -real- most of the time. It's like, "blahblahblahblah" all the time. It wouldn't be so bad if it was really amusing or unique blahblah. Mostly it isn't. Then again, if I wrote about my real life, I shudder to think just how boring and horrific it would be, so. Can't talk~:)