As you may have noticed, this project fell a little bit by the wayside. I continued to make entries in the journal, but I just started to lose time to transfer them to the computer.
My time in London continued and extended. In total I spent two and a half years in London. I got a girlfriend, moved out of hotels and in with Kirsten, got burgled - twice - learnt to dive, visited Egypt, Malta and La Palma, lost some friends, gained some more and generally got on with life.
Then came Christmas 2009.
In the space of two weeks I moved back from London, changed job and split up with girlfriend.
In short, I changed everything. Again.
I also made a simple New Year's Resolution. I would do one thing each day that improved my life somehow. It doesn't matter how big or small the change is. It doesn't even matter what the change is. It just has to improve my life.
It's not going so well. I have a tendency to miss days, or forget, or be too tired, or generally unmotivated. It's also hard to think of something you can do EVERY SINGLE DAY.
But it's working.
In the past five months I have quit smoking, started learning to drive, built a media pc from the ground up (age old dream) and reconnected with a number of friends I don't see nearly enough. I've also started some serious exercise, been sailing, been to an alternative club, picked up a hobby that I gave up over ten years ago and helped a couple of friends build the floor of their house. Life, in a way I can't always define, is better. And I think if I twist so the lights at just the right angle and I squint a little, that I might just be able to see happy from here. Or at least content.
I still don't know who I really am, and I haven't really worked out what I want out of life, and now I've got the time I'd like to return to this project and see if it can still work.
So I'd like to invite you to join me on a little journey I'm making. It's called life. It's pretty cool.
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Character flaws
17/10/07
Another thing I've noticed about my writing is the people. Now all writing is about conflict. If there's no conflict there is no story. It can be a conflict of people or lifestyles or worlds. No-one wants to go and see a film where boy meets girl and they live happily ever after, or read a thriller where the hero and the villain get on and work together. This journal itself would be rather boring if I wasn't in conflict with myself.
For conflict to occur people - characters - have to be in opposition. They have to be against each other in some way. It can be intentional or accidental. It can be major or minor but it has to be there.
All my characters however are fundamentally flawed. They might be depressed or crippingly introspective. They might be physically disabled or plain racist. They might just have seriously screwed up and have to deal with the consequences. That's fine. That's how it should be.
The problem is that often the women are flawed victims and the men are idiotic bastards. Just to be clear, when I saw flawed here what I really mean is repressed and when I say idiotic here what I really mean is, well, repressed.
It's not totally true, occasionally a man jumps the divide to become a flawed victim. Sometimes a woman is an idiotic bastard. However in each of those cases the character shows characteristics which are decidedly against their gender and the reason they are that specific gender is motivated by the plot. But it gets worse.
The characters that I find myself identifying with the most are the ones that hardly appear at all. They're the ones that exist only to give meaning to the events, or to give the main characters someone to talk to.
Now if life imitates art and art imitates life then this doesn't bode well for either me or the people around me. However since I also know that all of my characters are simply reflections of me I think you're all safe.
I on the other hand am vying between being a victim and a bastard. I am living on the outskirts of the world and it's entirely possible that I'm just a little bit repressed.
My repression is a weird one though. It's an emotional repression rather than a sexual one. I have had far too many conversations with friends about sex to be worried about that and so although I could talk about it I won't. Besides it's far to personal a thing for me to feel the need to share it with the world.
I saw an old friend over the weekend who, having read the blog, asked me if I was okay (hey Matt, you get a mention!). So lets be clear about that one now. I am okay. Very tired, a little bored of living in hotels and desperately looking forward to work calming down, but basically I'm fine.
Beyond that however I feel... loose I guess you'd call it. Untethered. Like I'm waiting for the hook that will drag me back down to Earth and reality.
That'll be work tomorrow then. There's nothing quite like being a non-manager to clarify your thoughts and make you realise how much the stuff in your head doesn't matter.
Another thing I've noticed about my writing is the people. Now all writing is about conflict. If there's no conflict there is no story. It can be a conflict of people or lifestyles or worlds. No-one wants to go and see a film where boy meets girl and they live happily ever after, or read a thriller where the hero and the villain get on and work together. This journal itself would be rather boring if I wasn't in conflict with myself.
For conflict to occur people - characters - have to be in opposition. They have to be against each other in some way. It can be intentional or accidental. It can be major or minor but it has to be there.
All my characters however are fundamentally flawed. They might be depressed or crippingly introspective. They might be physically disabled or plain racist. They might just have seriously screwed up and have to deal with the consequences. That's fine. That's how it should be.
The problem is that often the women are flawed victims and the men are idiotic bastards. Just to be clear, when I saw flawed here what I really mean is repressed and when I say idiotic here what I really mean is, well, repressed.
It's not totally true, occasionally a man jumps the divide to become a flawed victim. Sometimes a woman is an idiotic bastard. However in each of those cases the character shows characteristics which are decidedly against their gender and the reason they are that specific gender is motivated by the plot. But it gets worse.
The characters that I find myself identifying with the most are the ones that hardly appear at all. They're the ones that exist only to give meaning to the events, or to give the main characters someone to talk to.
Now if life imitates art and art imitates life then this doesn't bode well for either me or the people around me. However since I also know that all of my characters are simply reflections of me I think you're all safe.
I on the other hand am vying between being a victim and a bastard. I am living on the outskirts of the world and it's entirely possible that I'm just a little bit repressed.
My repression is a weird one though. It's an emotional repression rather than a sexual one. I have had far too many conversations with friends about sex to be worried about that and so although I could talk about it I won't. Besides it's far to personal a thing for me to feel the need to share it with the world.
I saw an old friend over the weekend who, having read the blog, asked me if I was okay (hey Matt, you get a mention!). So lets be clear about that one now. I am okay. Very tired, a little bored of living in hotels and desperately looking forward to work calming down, but basically I'm fine.
Beyond that however I feel... loose I guess you'd call it. Untethered. Like I'm waiting for the hook that will drag me back down to Earth and reality.
That'll be work tomorrow then. There's nothing quite like being a non-manager to clarify your thoughts and make you realise how much the stuff in your head doesn't matter.
Saturday, 25 August 2007
A marvellous beginning and a magical ending.
13/08/07
Today I discovered that I'll be in London for over a year now. It feels like I should chart this journey, and journey it is, hence the creation of this blog. But I should explain first.
I have a great life in Southampton which I enjoy. But that's always been about the people and not the place. Southampton doesn't fit me. It honestly never has. I enjoy my time there, I like the place, but it's not me.
My time is spent seeing friends and using my computer. The gym took up time for a while, but there are gyms everywhere. I have nothing that really ties me to Southampton. To the south coast in fact. Not since my parents moved to Scotland a year ago anyway. Just a job and some friends. The majority of my time is spent on the computer and two months ago I wiped the entire thing. Everything gone in a second. Well, a Microsoft second so really it was about an hour or so. But whatever.
I saw Sam on saturday and she suggested it was fate, or a subconscious desire. I'm happy to accept either. All I know is that it probably needed to be done. Otherwise I'd never really be free of the the machine.
But now I find myself far from home, with not just one but two mobile phones and a laptop. I have no internet connection and I have no one to call. I am free of the modern world.
For five days a week anyway.
*****
I've started to suspect that there is something wrong with me. Some flaw buried deep in my psyche. Not too long ago I was forced to accept that there is no such thing as magic. Obvious I know, but it was still something that I hadn't really accepted before. Even now I catch myself pretending and hoping that it's not true. It's a realisation that both depresses and enlivens me.
Because there are some truths that are buried so deep, and are so obvious to us, that we never really question them. We don't even really think about them. They are such a part of us that an entire section of our self, our inner being, is based upon them. So we can't refute them because to do so would be to refute ourselves.
But sometimes something happens. It may be huge and spectacular - a raging shower of fire and blood - or it might just be a tiny moment of introspection. It could be anywhere in between. But when it does happen it forces us to pull out one of those buried truths and take a long hard look.
If we're lucky that truth is still true. If we're less lucky it's nearly true, it just requires a bit of tweaking. If we're unlucky it's plain wrong, and a piece of our personality breaks free.
There's no such thing as magic. Such a simple lie, and yet so profound to me. So much of who I am was based upon it and I didn't even realise I fundamentally believed that magic existed. All around me if I could only see it.
At first I thought that was it, I just had to accept that and let me mind settle back into a new (hopefully better) place. Unfortunately it appears that it's worse than that. You see that's not the problem. It was a problem certainly, but not the problem.
I'm not the person that I want to be. Not yet anyway. I like the person I am, but it feels transitionary. A stepping stone between here and there. I just need to get there. I want to get there, I just don't know how. Or even where there is. I still don't. And that's the journey. That's what this year is going to be about. Getting there. Or somewhere close to it. Or even just on the way to it would do.
So here I am, cut lose from my life for long chunks of time, but still tied to it. Lost in my own mind and all the many personas I've created there (more on that another time) and yet grounded in reality by the very mundanity of my job. Alone in London and yet surrounded by people - friends, family and the faceless millions. No clear goals and no way to achieve them, but a thousand possibilities if I'm willing to risk it.
The Past is Prologue, let the play begin!
Today I discovered that I'll be in London for over a year now. It feels like I should chart this journey, and journey it is, hence the creation of this blog. But I should explain first.
I have a great life in Southampton which I enjoy. But that's always been about the people and not the place. Southampton doesn't fit me. It honestly never has. I enjoy my time there, I like the place, but it's not me.
My time is spent seeing friends and using my computer. The gym took up time for a while, but there are gyms everywhere. I have nothing that really ties me to Southampton. To the south coast in fact. Not since my parents moved to Scotland a year ago anyway. Just a job and some friends. The majority of my time is spent on the computer and two months ago I wiped the entire thing. Everything gone in a second. Well, a Microsoft second so really it was about an hour or so. But whatever.
I saw Sam on saturday and she suggested it was fate, or a subconscious desire. I'm happy to accept either. All I know is that it probably needed to be done. Otherwise I'd never really be free of the the machine.
But now I find myself far from home, with not just one but two mobile phones and a laptop. I have no internet connection and I have no one to call. I am free of the modern world.
For five days a week anyway.
*****
I've started to suspect that there is something wrong with me. Some flaw buried deep in my psyche. Not too long ago I was forced to accept that there is no such thing as magic. Obvious I know, but it was still something that I hadn't really accepted before. Even now I catch myself pretending and hoping that it's not true. It's a realisation that both depresses and enlivens me.
Because there are some truths that are buried so deep, and are so obvious to us, that we never really question them. We don't even really think about them. They are such a part of us that an entire section of our self, our inner being, is based upon them. So we can't refute them because to do so would be to refute ourselves.
But sometimes something happens. It may be huge and spectacular - a raging shower of fire and blood - or it might just be a tiny moment of introspection. It could be anywhere in between. But when it does happen it forces us to pull out one of those buried truths and take a long hard look.
If we're lucky that truth is still true. If we're less lucky it's nearly true, it just requires a bit of tweaking. If we're unlucky it's plain wrong, and a piece of our personality breaks free.
There's no such thing as magic. Such a simple lie, and yet so profound to me. So much of who I am was based upon it and I didn't even realise I fundamentally believed that magic existed. All around me if I could only see it.
At first I thought that was it, I just had to accept that and let me mind settle back into a new (hopefully better) place. Unfortunately it appears that it's worse than that. You see that's not the problem. It was a problem certainly, but not the problem.
I'm not the person that I want to be. Not yet anyway. I like the person I am, but it feels transitionary. A stepping stone between here and there. I just need to get there. I want to get there, I just don't know how. Or even where there is. I still don't. And that's the journey. That's what this year is going to be about. Getting there. Or somewhere close to it. Or even just on the way to it would do.
So here I am, cut lose from my life for long chunks of time, but still tied to it. Lost in my own mind and all the many personas I've created there (more on that another time) and yet grounded in reality by the very mundanity of my job. Alone in London and yet surrounded by people - friends, family and the faceless millions. No clear goals and no way to achieve them, but a thousand possibilities if I'm willing to risk it.
The Past is Prologue, let the play begin!
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