Writing with “Assistance”

So what I did last night may come as a shock to all and any who know me–I decided to get drunk.

Why?

Because I wanted to know what it was like. The last time I got drunk was at a Seder, which was years ago and because I went full traditional that year (which means no food after breakfast), and I had four shots of wine on an empty stomach.

Bad idea. Don’t do that.

So I decided to see what would happen if I was a bit more responsible and had an objective in mind this time (last time it was just being stupid and the eventual goal turned out to be “don’t punch the guest in the face because he’s telling your sister gays aren’t people because YOU’RE DRUNK, SALIX).

I have what I like to call a writer’s bucket list. The list is, so far, as follows and in no particular order:
-See what appears on the screen after 2~4 shots of whiskey
-Write a shitty romance novel
-Be put on the banned books list
-Get horrendously misrepresented by postmodernists
-Go to book signings
-Be invited to conventions as guest of honor
-Get published

Alcohol certainly helped with the shitty romance writing. I accomplished ~5 1/4 pages in roughly 2hrs (while texting people my adventures) before I got too distracted and/or bored.

I also found my inhibitions didn’t change too much. My motor control certainly degraded, as did my articulation, but beyond that my texts appear to contain the usual amount of spelling and grammatical errors.

Of course, the amount I consumed is rather important. I purchased 3 minis (50mL) of various kinds of whiskey. They all tasted like plastic. Though, through the plastic, I found one kind I did enjoy and may go for again in the distant future should I ever choose to try this again. I can say for a fact I did not enjoy how disconnected my mind felt, nor did I enjoy how clouded I felt.

But it did provide me with a somewhat better understanding for those who do choose alcoholism. I don’t sympathize, but given how every worry just didn’t seem to set off the little glands by my kidneys, I can see why people who are in a constant state of worry, fear, and/or stress may opt for this. Or those in physical pain. Whatever weird muscle spasm problem I suffer from certainly took a backseat. In fact, one of the early indicators my liver was doing its job was the neck twitches had returned. Though the obnoxious cloudiness remained for another hour after that.

So yeah. That alcohol sure helped with writing, but this was definitely something I rather not do again for quite a while.

PS
The god awful story is titled My Exboyfriend The Space Alien Assassin.

And yes. I am so totally publishing it on Amazon.

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Writing About Writing

I’m not too sure what to really say or discuss, actually. This is me making an attempt to get something out there, and hopefully this post will get the momentum of motivation going.

This is also likely to be a post I may tag as “to revisit.” What does that mean? It means it’d be in a small section of works I write with the intent of returning to and rewriting after at least a year has passed. These reasons could vary from the idea is very important to me, so I’d like to come back and redo it when I have (ideally) gotten better at articulating my thoughts. That, or, the reason is it’s about something I still have a great deal to learn about and I might want to revisit the piece after having learned a great deal more about it. For example, once I finally finish reading Guns, Germs, and Steel, I’d like to do a history-related post defending Jared Diamond’s work. Then I’d like to come back and reassess my stance. (For those wondering: A lot of people seem to hate Diamond for the fact that he’s not a historian but is writing about history–these people seem to forget and/or elements of history do not just consist of people, but of animals, the ecosystem, plants, etc.)

Anyway.

I like writing. It means a lot to me, and it’s definitely something I can’t see living without. A friend of mine were once discussing what is it like to live without the ability to keep writing about things. It certainly reminded me of the occasional thought I had of “What happens if I lose that ability to write?” Though, it should be noted, quality isn’t exactly a factor here. I’m quite weak in writing quality, and that is mostly my fault as I have avoided writing everyday despite my love for writing.

Which is frustrating, really. This is something I enjoy, so why is it a challenge to just get up and do it? Lately I’ve lost the “thing” of being too concerned with what people think of it. Not to say it’s immune to criticism or comments on how I could have phrased something, done better, or really just need to drop a chunk as a whole. But more like it really is far more important to create 5 bad, clunky rough drafts than to be paralyzed by the fear of creating something bad in general. Whatever I make will have something wrong with it, so why get stuck in that loop? I can always go back and fix it–but I certainly can’t go back and fix it if it doesn’t even exist.

I guess another thing about writing that certainly has “WRITER” ingrained in my existence is how I feel when I am writing. If I get sucked into an idea (never mind how cliched it sounds), it really does feel like the world stops being there. Whatever I’m working on is there. This doesn’t mean I stop seeing my desk. It’s definitely still there (and a mess right now), but concerns about its messiness go away. Worries about whatever’s going on in my social life definitely disappear. If I get really, really into it and go without pause, I’ll definitely not notice the hunger or thirst signals. (RIP the mugs of coffee that went cold.)

This is definitely not coming out as articulated as I intended.

But that’s okay. I’ll talk about the concept and process of writing a lot on here, and I may consider revisiting this post.

Thank you for taking the time to read.