Risk and Reward

Awareness and risk, we didn't crash into one another. I don't know why he annoys me so much. Just the general frustration of fascination, I'm sure. At least he's talking to me again. Only in theatre.

As always, the toughest bit is getting out of bed in the morning. Every tough time is like that. Once I'm out of bed and moving, and occasionally this translates to properly dressed and no longer rocking my PJ's around the living room, I have some momentum. As much as I hate to imply that physics may actually have some bearing on my life, I feel I'm a victim of inertia. In the same vein, getting to sleep is tough too. I don't want to rely on the pills on the bedside table to stop the charge of circular thoughts around the inside of my skull, to dull the heartache and let me drift off. Morpheus is only sometimes my friend. He didn't want to let go of me this morning, and I suspect that tomorrow will be no different. The lines are crisscrossing each other, and I don't know where they turn into boundaries. I'm still intrigued, though I'm sure it's a bad idea. Just the same as before, right down to cigarette smoke. It's human nature to want what you can't or shouldn't have. Though if I get what I want, will I fall into the same trap again? The one I unwillingly lure someone into as we speak. Maybe it is to do with the exoticism. That which is rare is always prized.

I like to shelter, I like to protect, I like to nurture, but I also like to deal with independent self-sufficient people. That sounds like I'm a lot angrier than I am. I'm not angry really, it's just that nobody else is quite enough, and I'm frustrated in more ways than one. The fact that it doesn't feel quite right doesn't quell the cravings, just keeps me from satisfying them. The fact that I don't know who to trust, who I can trust, especially given my recent bouts of tongue wagging, doesn't help at all. And I should be writing for NaNoWriMo rather than doing this. But for some reason I'm not.
I might be taking up Japanese again, but not until December.
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Page 11 Ingenue

So I'm NaNoing. It's harder than I thought it would be, but also easier, if that makes any sense. The words are coming, all right, but they're not the kind of words I thought they'd be. I had one character, strong, smart, savvy, with all these interesting things to do, but I could not for the life of me make her do them. I mean she did them, I just couldn't pull off a play-by-play, I had to resort to some expository bullshit after the fact. At first I thought that it was because I'd let myself get to attached to her, that there was too much me in her to let her do things I wouldn't or couldn't. Then I realized that this all comes from the write what you know thing. I've never done those things, or anything really like them. The one event I got closest to getting right on paper is the one that was closest to my own experiences. It's because she wasn't enough like me for me to get in her head on those things, because if I did, she'd act like me, and she doesn't. And then I realized that this other character I'm writing about is a lot more accessible to me. And damn it I swore I wouldn't write about my own love life. I'm not, completely at least. It's not me, and it's not him on the paper. Sure, they're people a little like us, but it's not what happened, or the way it happened. But it's close enough. Having met and spoken with a hedonistic don juan of a man, I can more easily imagine his tricks. Which is a lot like where Devin came from. Aha! An epiphany, she can't fall under his spell because she is him. He can't bewitch her because she already knows his games, and can play them against him. Maybe win. Enter the ingenue. Of course, that's why she couldn't be a sideline character. The story is really about her. Funny, isn't it? She didn't show up until page 11.

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