Questions Asked and Questions Answered

Hello everyone!

Awww, who am I kidding, no one really reads this blog. I haven't updated in months and months, and no one ever really read it to begin with either. There were a handful of people I knew who read, but that was really only because I asked. But thats alright that no one reads it.

If I was writing just because I wanted people's attention, then I'd be writing for the wrong reason.

Since being a 'writer' is something I've had plenty of experience with, and since talking to some other 'writers' out there, I feel like I can say this with some certainty. Now, I highly doubt that it is true for everyone, so please don't feel like this stranger, whom you've never met has suddenly made this broad sweeping statement about your lifestyle and personality. So, lets just get it out there.

Writers are people who are driven to distraction.

I think I can be fairly certain that this statement can apply to most every writer. That isn't saying that plenty of writers haven't overcome this affliction of their personalities; indeed, if anyone ever hopes to become professional this is a demon that they must conquer. Yet even those who somehow manage to write and publish book after book would agree that they have a tendency to focus on the shinies.

Its a sort of self induced writers block, one that is all too appealing to most of us. I've struggled greatly with this tendency my entire life and it has affected both my writing output and my academics. I'm stuck in a particularly deep rut at the moment, and while I was doing the dishes tonight I really thought about it.

Why don't I write? I certainly love to write, so what is the problem? Is it because I don't have any ideas? No, that isn't it. Then why?

I paused a moment as I worked and suddenly a bunch of answers burst into my mind like black friday shoppers into a Best Buy at 3 in the morning. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending in your perspective, none of the answers were entirely reasonable.

I found myself thinking that no one would like my writing, or appreciate it. That I wouldn't be able to support myself or a family on a writers 'salary'. That it wouldn't go anywhere in the end and therefore, wasn't worth my time.

I hated myself for these answers. These were the answers I thought I'd left behind me last year when I had promised myself to become a writer. So much for progress, right? But then I asked myself another question; a question that I quickly realized was much more important.


Why do I want to write?


It was because I had never answered this question that the other answers had remained. There had been nothing to fill the void, so they simply flooded back with all the confidence issues that they had brought in the past.

This realization caught me off guard. I don't know why it had never occurred to me before, but it made perfect sense. I didn't write not because of all these negative reasons, but rather, I didn't write because I never found myself a positive reason.

And so I continued to wash dishes, now deep in thought in my attempt to come up with an answer. I have some answers that are close, but I'm not sure if I've really found the one answer yet. At this point, all I can do is keep thinking and do some soul-searching to find the answer to my question.

Without that answer, I'm afraid I won't ever become a proper writer.

Honestly, it reminds me of that chapter in Inheritance(last of the Eragon books), when Eragon and Saphira are spending their time on Vroengard, deep in thought as they try to realize their true names. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, a True Name is a phrase, often magical in context, which describes your personality and being perfectly. It is who you are in the truest sense possible.

That is what I feel like I'm trying to do now. I just hope that I will be happy when I find my answer.

Pondering anxiously,
Marc Eshleman

Writing: A Historical Perspective

I know it's been a long time since I posted last, and sadly, I cannot report any susbtantial progression on my book. First school caught up with me, and then life happened, and then I just lost the habit of writing. This marks the resuscitation of that particular endeavor and my hope that I can continue to write.

Sometimes I wonder if I've spent all my good ideas. Then I remember how many stories I have yet to tell, and how many words I long to put to the page. Even if I never write another good idea, I'll never stop writing. There is far too much to do!

Now, on to the actual topic at hand. This, being my first semester as an English major, is a semester that is filled with an deluge of literary giants of both the poetic and novellic worlds. Mark Twain, William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson, etc., etc. After a bit of reading, a troubling question approached my mind.

What had these gentlemen done to prove their literary efforts noble and clever enough for history to recall them these hundreds of years later? Why these specific poets and novelists?

Mark Twain broached the controversial subjects of the day, and couched his opinions and ideas cleverly in the guise of fiction. That's something. For the life of me though, I can't figure out why certain poets were revered and others were not. They don't really tackle important issues like racism and slavery. Most of the time they just deal in human behaviors.

What makes them different? It's was an idea that I struggled with for the longest time, trying to figure out what separated the wheat from the chaff. However, despite thinking on it for long periods of time, I never made any real progress with the problem.

It has since occurred to me though, that hardly any of the writers known for their work today were ever famous in their lifetime. Their poetry or fiction was just something that they did in the background of the rest of their life. They didn't want to be noticed. They just wanted to write.

That's just what I'm going to have to do. Write and hope that somewhere, at some time, my thoughts and creations will have sway in people's hearts and minds. While I do write because I need to, I also write to connect. The relationship between the author and the reader is one of unity when you think about it. A sharing of thoughts and ideas from one person to another. And it is that act for which I strive.

Pushing forward as always,
Marc Eshleman

To Breathe on Titan

To Breathe on Titan
By Marc Eshleman

On a distant moon where the spheres doth glow and move in the alien sky,
Those stars that burn in a darkness which knows without an inkling why,
The empty spaces in between where travelers oft live or die,
Upon a distant moon where the spheres doth glow and move in that alien sky.

Yet looking upon that sky of ours,
Where our humans eyes could be lost for hours,
Sifting star upon star from that sandy, glittering beach above,
Ever wonder at the skies of those planets who you count,
As dots among that burning, sparkling amount,
of diamonds or gems trapped in the crown of our sky?

Do you wonder on those foreign landscapes, their dusty and rocky grounds,
How the hills do rise and the valleys fall beneath the crusty mounds?
To walk those valleys and explore those hills and feel the pressure of nothing,
And seek the lost amongst the gone, and wonder if it is worth looking?

Have you ever wanted to know what it would be like to breathe on the surface of Titan?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! My Thanksgiving went well, if it was a little quiet. A delicious meal was shared with my family and then I went to bed. It was a fun time.

The novel goes well, though I haven't made much progress since the last time I talked to you guys about it. Being Thanksgiving Break I thought I would take a break and just relax for a bit. I plan to begin again on my book after break is over. Until then I thought I'd give you guys a sample of my poetry to read over and enjoy!

Have a good break everyone!

Writing for my future,
Marc Eshleman

Life, Homework, and The Library

Hello everyone! It's been a while since we've had the pleasure of discussing my life, so I thought I'd drop in and let you all know how I'm doing.

My NaNoWriMo project is basically over. The past week or so has been very busy for me, as various projects have been tossed on my shoulders by my teachers. It's been a difficult time. That's not to say that I'm done trying to write the book. On the contrary, my efforts shall continue in that direction, but the likelyhood of writing 50,000 words in the alloted time of NaNo has fallen like a wounded falcon who has just been struck by a meteor. The book will be finished. I don't think I could avoid doing something that makes me feel so right with the world.

In other interesting news, something occurred to me a while back that I thought I would try. Maybe you guys would like to give it a shot as well, though be warned it a bit of an odd thing to do.

I've always been amazed at the minds ability to visualize an environment, something that I'm quite familiar with as a fairly avid reader. This idea occurred to me as I pondered the phrase 'go to your happy place' on my way to art class one Tuesday morning. I wasn't pondering this phrase for any particular reason, it's just that when I walk to and from my classes, my mind tends to wander just as far as I am.

Anyway, I was thinking about that phrase and a question occurred to me in that one moment, "What if I could create a permanent, imaginary environment? A place that lives in my imagination, somewhere I can go to literally get lost in thought. Wouldn't that be an interesting experiment."

And thus was born The Library. It didn't take me long to figure out it's general form and shape. I fashioned a library, with thousands upon thousands of books filling the shelves, dusty with neglect. I don't honestly know how big the place is yet, because I've yet to explore very deeply. I haven't gone more then a few aisles in. The rim of the library is dotted periodically with private bedrooms that usually contain some number of matches and candles. It is a rim as the walls of the building are curved. I suspect that the whole thing is one large dome, though one too massive for me to see with the light of the candles that I find. The main part of the library isn't lit by anything, that I can see anyway, and the bookshelves themselves rise beyond the limit of my sight as well.

Overall I suppose it's a rather imposing place, though the thought of it makes me feel rather comfortable. As to the contents of the books therein, I imagine that some of them are records and memories, while others contain dreams, and yet still others are books I have yet to write. Not sure what section I'm in at the moment as I have yet to actually pick up any of the books. Usually, when I spend time there, I spend it searching the aisle and exploring. Truthfully, I suppose that The Library represents the whole of my mind, and as such sometines I wonder what I'll find in there. What ideas could fill up all of these books? What characters and creatures stalk the aisles? Moreover, whats at the very center of it all?

As I explore, I hope to find the answers to these questions and more. It's not that I couldn't answer them now, I suppose, but rather that I don't currently have any possibilities that I think are worthy of being the proper answer. When I do, I'll have just have one more question answered.

Now, to do what I was born to do.

Writing for my Future,
Marc Eshleman

The Secret Knots: Comics about things we do without knowing why

First an update!

Chapter 2: The Playground- Finished
Word Count: 7,231
Words behind: 7,769

Will I be able to catch up? Maybe. I'll definitely try. Either way I'm alright with it. Writing this book was going to take longer then a month anyway. :P

Now onto the main thing I wanted to talk about today!

Many of you know that I enjoy a variety of webcomics that I check every morning Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. My favorite one thus far is one called Gunnerkrigg Court(http://www.gunnerkrigg.com/archive_page.php?comicID=1). It was while checking that comic this morning that I came across another comic, one that captured my imagination.

http://www.thesecretknots.com/

The artist and writer of the comic is Juan Santapau who is a resident of Santiago, Chile. He updates whenever he's finished with the next part of the comic and doesn't try and force it. However, unlike most webcomics, there isn't a large interconnected storyline. Most pages are stand alone stories, though a few chain into each other to make slightly larger story arcs.

The reason I'm bringing this webcomic to your attention is quite simple. I haven't read fiction this whimsical, magical, and thought provoking in my entire life. The world in which all of his stories take place is one in which the line between fantasy and reality is blurred considerably. The people that tend to populate it are quiet and introspective, and often have some sort of bizzare happenstance in their lives that they just take for granted.

Things like midnight discussions with ghosts, a lost body of work from a composer whose music could make you taste the sweet flavor of lemon pie or feel the texture of a white handkerchief, to the story about a childhood lost and regained because of the truth fairy.

These small bits of creative writing and art flow together, their styles complimentary in the very best sense. The stories tend to leave you in wonder, wanting to ponder on their subject matter longer, ruminating in the flavors of the story. I highly reccomend it for anyone who wants to spend some time in a world where fiction and impossibility gently bobs up behind every corner, like a balloon inching its way further up a ceiling.

Chapter 1: Rusted Memories IS FINISHED!!!

Well, here we are at the start of week 2!

The weekend was pretty hard to work through, and I didn't end up getting many words down at all, which has put me rather far behind. Luckily it is not inconquerable. In order to finish on time, I'm going to have to write 1,867 words a day. That'll be rather difficult, but I think I can do it, and even if I don't I'm definitely farther into any attempt at writing a novel then I've ever been before. : )

Current word count: 5,212.
Chapter 1: Rusted Memories is finished.



What I learned from Chapter 1:

1. I don't know very much about working in a library.
2. I don't know very much about working in 'business'.
3. I don't know very much about football.
4. I don't know how to write women at all.
5. I can't write brothers well either.
6. I can write best friends alright, but that definitely still needs work.
7. DIALOGUE, I HATE YOU!!!!!!!




Not sure what I'm going to name chapter two yet, but that should be easier to write as I have it outline much better. As I keep writing I'm going to have to forward the outline that I'm keeping in my rather large black book. It's only up to chapter 5, though it does have a lot of information in it. This is going to be a very, very big book, and I think I'll be lucky to truly finish it in under a year. Still, the march to 50,000 words goes on!

Onward I shall go! TO VICTORY!!!!

And so it BEGINS!

Well! Here we are! End of day one. Last night I stayed up until midnight and then spent a hour writing the beginning of my novel. It probably wasn't the best idea, but I found myself too excited to go to sleep. I'll just have to go back later and fix that quality of writing. Oh well, so is the life of a writer.

My first few sessions of writing were sort of bumpy. It's been too long since I read anything or wrote anything, and as a result I was pretty rusty at first. My sentences were simple and a little undefined. My thoughts didn't come through very clearly. However, I found my stride when I sat down to write the rest of my daily allotment. I just sat there, plunking away, focused on my work for a solid hour. I must say it felt pretty good!

Also, just so you guys know, I wouldn't expect anything like the other updates have been. Contemplative blog posts are for when I'm not in the middle of NaNoWriMo. They'll be back at the end of November though, promise.

So, end of day one. Here is where I stand so far.

Chapter 1: Rusted Memories
Word Count: 2300

I'll probably add a little bit more to it tonight that way I don't have to do as much tomorrow to reach my daily allotment. Tomorrow will be a pretty big writing day for me though. I've only got one class, so I'm sure I'll have some pretty darn sore typing fingers by the end of it.

Writing for the Future,
Marc Eshleman