Embracing the Messiness — Also, I might have Dissociative Identity Disorder

Endless Rewrite

I don’t have many flaws; I’m beautiful, smart, compassionate, have a massive vocabulary and I can eat a giant bucket of KFC without ever getting sick. People look at me and think: “That girl just has it all. Style, flair, wit and enough sex appeal to make Brad Pitt pick up a phone in the middle of the night and give her a call.” I know this because I can also read people’s mind with surprising accuracy. It’s hard to believe but I really am that amazing.

When you take a minute think about it, you realize how impressive it is that in the face of my own flawless perfection I’ve managed to remain such a humble soul. I’m not a person who writes blogs to tell the entire world how amazing I am, nor do I feel the need to send a dozen tweets into the webosphere every single time I sneeze rainbows and fart roses.

Instead of becoming an intolerable douche bag, I like to think I’ve kept myself grounded, honest and approachable. One of the ways I do that, is by trying to blend in. For instance, sometimes I pretend to make a mistake so everyone else doesn’t feel so intimidated by my greatness. Like this one time when I was six I cut my own hair and let’s just say I could have done a better job at it. And the other day, I pretended to not be able to do maths in my head because I mix up the numbers and they make no sense because who decided 1+1=2 anyway?

Oh, and there was this one time… Never mind, I won’t go into that, because you possibly just had dinner and I don’t want to make you feel sick.

But let’s be honest, for a minute – weren’t you honest already, Janneke. You incredible beacon of humanity, you shining light of perfection, you Goddess of humility and decency?  – First of all, I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. It’s not very becoming on someone who doesn’t really exist and I’m making up as I’m typing this.

What, I meant every single word I said. I’m sure that if you are ever less than perfect, it is only on purpose to make us ‘lesser people’ not feel so insignificant.

Exactly. I’m glad you get me. It’s almost like you are part of me and also read everything I said above.

I did and I am. And I am here to tell you that you have problem and should see a doctor.

Enough about you, let’s talk about me some more.

But if I’m only pretending that I am far from perfect, I am very good at it. I am arrogant, selfish and I don’t think I can actually eat a bucket of KFC without being violently ill. In fact, my own imperfection keeps me up at night. I always feel like I should be better, different, kinder and less guarded. I’m pretty sure there are quite a few indicators in my childhood as to why that is, but that’s not the point right now.

The point it that I constantly have this need to be better. Not so much better than everyone else, because let’s face it, there are few opinions and people I care more about than my own and myself.

No, I feel like I should be better than I am… Which is a fucking pain in my ass. Because I’ll spend forever going over everything I said and did and how I should have said and could’ve done it better. I know this is the same for every person, and it is how we learn. But I have a harder time letting things go. In some cases it will take me years to get over insignificant mistakes. I will feel this dumb shame and doubt in disproportionate amounts long after the fact, which is just silly.

On some levels I guess it makes me actually be a better person and act with some more respect and kindness. Even though I sometimes like to have some peace from myself and my constant feeling I should be better somehow; I don’t think it is always such a bad think to chastise yourself and try to be a better, kinder, more open-minded person.

Except when I’m writing; because all of the sudden the endless analyzing and perfectionism becomes the worst fucking habit to have.

Don’t you think it’s good to be critical and strive for the best, Janneke?

Thanks for interrupting me, you dick. But to answer your question… Sure it is, but it’s just not very helpful to jump right into self-loathing and doubt when you’re just one page in to a story or a script. Things evolve organically after a long process of writing and re-writing, and I sometimes expect things to be perfect right from the start. Which pushes me time and again in the habit to start rewriting when there is barely anything to rewrite. I will start sculpting the fine lines, without ever hewing out the general shape of the thing.

And this is an almost impossible way to work, because without knowing the general shape, how do you know where the fine lines and details actually go? You can’t build a cathedral without first setting up a solid foundation (and everything I do of course has the grandeur and beauty and eternity similar to Cathédrale de Chartres)

So, while you may feel like you are making things better by just jumping in straight away, going back and fixing every single issue, you just end up going in smaller and smaller circles until you run into yourself, screaming and shouting and wondering why you are so incompetent. — Almost as though you are talking to yourself on your own blog? —

Almost like that.

Except here I don’t care. I can do whatever I want. I can talk to myself, I can talk to imaginary readers, I can pretend to be anyone and anything. It doesn’t matter. These blogs help me unwind, that is the only point there is to them. I don’t care too much about them. Here I have nothing to prove, not to myself and not to the world. These posts just exist. I barely rewrite them. I just type, press send and never look back. They are like mindless scribbles and sketches build from words. They are often a mess, either structurally or just poorly worded…and let’s not even start talking about the content… :)

That people enjoy them in spite of that is a giant compliment, and it does give me enormous joy. I’m not being callous when I say that I don’t care about this blog. I mean that I don’t care about it as much as I care about my actual writing projects. But for better or worse, this blog is helping me grow and develop myself. It has helped me find and improve my natural writing voice, taught me how to write jokes and how to come up with better metaphors and mostly it has helped me to not care so much about every single word I write.

Perfection is in the whole, not in every single nuance. You can have some rough edges and poorly structured sentences, as long as it all adds up to something interesting (and if not, at least I have plenty of pictures of upside down dogs and baby pandas to keep you entertained. Because in the end nothing is better than that and cats in cardigans)

So these days, I find it much easier to write on my actual projects, because I just don’t care so much about it being perfect right now. I am more interested in setting up the broad strokes first. In fact, I am much more interested in finishing something for a change, without becoming discouraged or hating myself for being such a failure.

And while I’m now 20,000 words into a story that is barely holding together at the seams; because I’m making things up as I go along, I am desperately trying to accept it the way it is and defy the temptation to rewrite. Every inch of my body and mind is begging me to do it, to just brush up the logical fallacies, I’ll promise to leave the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes aside (some of them are hilarious. I might share them some day), I’m not giving in to the feeling.

Yes, I may have a character recalling something in chapter 1, which is impossible because I kill him off in chapter 3. It doesn’t really matter. Because in the long run, the story isn’t about him. And it’s an easy fix. I know it is there, and once I am done I’ll go back to it and fix it. It’s not part of the narrative, so for now I’m ignoring it and just typing away.

I’m somewhere at a pace between 500 and a 1000 words a day, and so far I’m only speeding up; because I have embraced the messiness, and decided that whatever happens, things will be fine. There will be a rewrite at some point, when I know what the story exactly is. For now, I’ll just let my hands do the typing, write without judgement, and let the words pour out of me.

They might be terrible words, but they aren’t meant to be Shakespeare (because I don’t think I can be both that poetic and boring at the same time). They are rough, ugly and messy, but they are mine.

And if they are anything like me, one day they will pretend to be absolutely perfect.


Negative Writing Space.

This picture has little to do with this entire post. I just like it. If this bothers you, please send a written complaint to someone who gives a shit.

This picture has little to do with this entire post. I just like it. If this bothers you, please send a written complaint to someone who gives a shit.

As discussed in my last post I am living my life at rock bottom at the moment, feeling like an emotional and physical train wreck survivor. To be honest though, as a person who spend the majority of her life literally at the bottom of the world, right below sea level, I feel quite comfortable having some quiet time until my mind and heart are healed again.

What is way more frustrating (than getting my heart broken and my brain scanned, because let’s keep it in perspective people!) is that I am currently writing at a negative pace. As promised (to myself) I write- almost every day- a whole bunch of words down. I think I average just over 500 a day, which isnt’t all that much. But I think it is still impressive considering the fact that I have to nurture my alcohol addiction (just kidding mom, it’s a pill addiction), google pictures of fat, angry, dressed up cats and my brain trying to throb it’s way out of my skull at the same time.

Of course, to you- a mere mortal- 500 words a day may still seem impressive. Perhaps because you are much better at math than me, and can quickly figure out that if I am telling the truth, that adds up to about 3500 words a week, which is 15,000 a month. Given that the typical novel averages at around 60,000 words, at this pace, I should be putting my finishing touches on something resembling the size and scope of the bible (but of course, of much more cultural importance and way more references to Brad Pitt’s naked torso.)

Except that I’m not. At the time of procrastinating on this blog post, I am stuck at 10,833 words. Which is, now that I’m thinking about it, not as bad as I thought. Except that a week ago I was somewhere around 14,000 words. So rather that progressing, in some ways I am moving backwards.

Today for instance, I wrote about 1200 words. But now, at the end of a grueling writing session (without any coffee, I should add) I’m actually stuck at minus 1600 plus words. I know this because I meticulously keep track. With every word I write, I can see my own statistics glaring at me from my screen, counting up word for word… but the last few days mostly counting down. (I do whatever I can to make myself feel like a lazy failure)

Screen shot 2013-01-27 at 6.10.34 PM

Welcome to my fucking world.

How come, you ask? Can’t you just stop keeping track and pretend writing is fun or something?

Well, to answer your question…  Getting beat up in a dark alley, drunk dialing your ex and getting hit by a truck (simultaneously) are all things I consider to be way more fun than writing. But you don’t do those things, you say. Well, first of all; fuck you, how do you know? Second of all… No, sorry…. I got nothing…. No funny come back or something to make this seem less like a dumb segue that I am too lazy to edit out.

I just wanted you to know that I don’t really enjoy writing.

Well, than it’s probably a good thing you don’t write all that many words… why are you fucking even complaining about it and wasting my fucking precious time!! Don’t you know I have stocks and shares to buy and poor people to oppress?!

Will you shut the fuck up for a minute, imaginary reader who happens to be an oppressive dictator because that is what I think the average readership of this blog is! I didn’t ask you for your opinion. You don’t see me come to your (imaginary) blog and interrupt you when you are busy writing boring pieces about how you are writing negative words (or killing puppies, because you’re a vile dictator and that’s what you do for fun on Wednesdays).

(Hey, everyone looking back from the future when I really am in the asylum… You really can’t say there were no signs of my impending mental collapse.)
Anyways, sorry about that. The things I do to not have to write a story…  Getting back to me complaining about boring shit in… 5…4…3…2…

Basically what happens is that every day I write way more words than I end up with. I think about half of everything I write bites the dust before the day is over. The rest will be erased over the course of the next few days. And slowly, but gently I’m shaping this tale into something that is both amazing and heart breaking (read: self indulging and cringe-worthy). Because it is relatively easy to write a thousand words in an hour, what is much, much harder is for those words to form logical sentences and actually make sense. And if you want all of those sentences to shape and build together to something even bigger… It takes time and a lot of rewriting.

And sometimes you get stuck, and there is nothing to do but trash 2000 words. Not all of them bad, in fact, some of them are great. (Obviously, since I wrote them). And I would say that gets frustrating (as I did when I started this post). But it really doesn’t. Because I am building a house of words, and if the foundation isn’t solid. There is no point in continuing.

So yes, most days I really hate writing. It’s a drag and you feel you end up with nothing but good intentions and bad sentences. But in the end, I know that what I hate even more than writing is not writing. So, I am condemned to crawl behind my shitty old computer and punch away on the keys, feel like a talentless hack and do it anyways. Because it’s kind of all I have. (Hey people with real jobs and lives, don’t you feel great about yourself right now?!)It’s coincidentally also what I came here to do, so the fact that I am finally, consistently doing it gives me some small feeling of pride. (at this point in time, I’ll take what I can get)

I may be writing at a negative pace right now, but in the end, I am still almost 11,000 words into a story that is kind of funny (it’s about suicide. Always a hoot). And I am learning all new kinds of things (mostly about killing yourself -for instance, did you know it was painful and unpleasant– and the Looney Tunes).

And someday soon, I might post the first chapter here. So you guys can tell me whether I am the genius many prophets once proclaimed I was, or if I just should get on with it and kill myself. (Just kidding, I am totally waiting for that Apocalypse. I’m crossing my fingers for either zombies or an ice age!)

Scariest. Fucking. Thing. Ever.

Scariest. Fucking. Thing. Ever.


The first person that emails me saying that perhaps writing would go a lot faster if I didn’t waste 1200 words on a blog post where I mostly talk to my imaginary dictator friend and ramble on about boring shit that really no one in the world gives a shit about except myself…  can expect a bullet engraved with his or her name in the mail.

Maniacal laugh

What he Said

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming ‘Woo Hoo what a ride!'”

– Hunter S. Thompson, who truly lived (and died) by those words. He left this planet with a burned up body and a note that -as far as suicide notes go- was pretty awesome. He also had one of the better funerals I’ve ever heard about.

And yes, I know quoting famous authors makes you a pretentious douchebag. But hey… when the shoe fits, fucking own that thing and wear it with pride…

I’m not dead… I’m Outlining — A conversation with my Imaginary ‘Fans’

In case you are wondering where I am. I am behind my computer… writing and outlining my story. It kinda takes time and effort. (and when I’m not doing that, I’m trying to get myself a bank account)

It’s been two months of that already. What are you…. A terrible writer?

Could be, could very much be. Safe to say I’ve been working really hard. And then some days not so hard. But I think I’m really making headway this time. And if not, in the worst case, I do learn to write really beautifully constructed sentences.

Yea, who cares. When is that screenplay you keep boring us with, done.

I’d say 7 months from now… If I can keep this up. I outlined 8 pages today, 4 of which I am really happy and 2 I can live with. So, I think I might not throw this version out completely. Maybe.

7 months… If you think I’ll keep reading this terrible blog full of Imaginary conversations with yourself and pictures of Indiana Jones and puppies… you are very much mistaken. 

Too bad. Here’s a picture of not Indiana Jones for your trouble.

Anyone else here think that combining Episode 1 with 3D might actually be the best Idea George Lucas ever had. Two negatives cancel eachother out, right?

The only people who’ll find this post interesting are Screenwriters — and obsessed stalkers

I’ve been writing a lot these past days… No, not here. In the real world.

I started this thing called an Outlining draft. I’m not sure if it’s a real thing, well, it is, but I’m not sure of it’s the same thing as I am doing… You see, what I’m doing right now is I’m basically writing the outline of my screenplay as though it is a screenplay. You could call it a very rough and unplanned first draft.

I’m doing this for two reasons. I’ve been starting at Word and Pages and my Notebook and Notes for far too long and the project started to feel dead in the water. I felt like it was never happening because I was over-thinking everything. I went off in every direction, and still wasn’t sure where to go. It was maddening.

I’ve written a bit of fiction lately, and the great thing about that is that you don’t have to think about it. Real writers probably do. But for me it’s just a bit of fun. A way to unwind from all the neurotic structuring and outlining and such. I just make it up as I go along, and it’s been really inspiring and exciting.

So, I decided my screenplay could do with the same sense of fun for a bit. So I’m basically writing actual script pages now. It’ll probably all be discarded at some point, but at least I feel like we’re going in the right direction. Like something is happening. Words are on paper. And so far, I’m quite happy with what’s emerging there. It’s the shadow of the story.


The second reason I dove into writing the actual screenplay is to test my new workflow. I’ve always been writing in Final Draft (except for that first year I wrote in Sophocles) and have always been pretty happy with it. But then I got an iPad to write on. And Final Draft isn’t available on the iPad yet. So that was a problem.

I tuned in to John August and Craig Mazin’s terrific podcast Scriptnotes a while ago and they discussed “Fade In” scriptwriting software, which is available on the iPad. I’m currently running the trial version (mostly because I don’t have a Credit card to buy the real version) and it is really great.

First of all; it looks like you expect professional software to look. Final Draft still looks like it is run on MS Dos. This thing looks completely different. At first I wasn’t completely sure about the look.. But now that I’ve gotten used to it I cannot image going back to Final Draft.

Second of all, and this is the main reason I am excited. It’s workflow is so efficient. It took me a little while to get all the Final Draft short cuts out of my system. But now it works effortless. Sure, it’s a bit of a hassle to switch, for example, Action to Character on my iPad… But I’m sure newer versions will work that out. Secondly, at least it runs on my iPad.

An it doesn’t just run. It runs really well in some ways. For instance, when I’m done, I can just upload it to my dropbox. This means that if I’m in a bar writing, when I’m done I just upload it there. Whatever happens to my iPad -stolen, burned, crushed- my files won’t be lost. And I never have to go through the hassle of emailing myself the files (which I often forget) so that when I’ve been working at home behind my computer. I’ll always have the latest file on my iPad as well.

So, Fade in. I’m a fan. And I urge you all to check it out. The test version works great. And the real version isn’t all that expensive. All you need is a credit card. :)

Yes, I’m still writing — No, it’s not about Kittens

I felt it has been a while since I last said anything useful on this blog. So, I thought I’d mix it up a bit and talk about something that has slightly less to do with furry kittens and more with that thing I went here to do…

What was that again… O yes, writing.
Writing screenplays to more be specific.

I dropped my Post-apocalyptic breakfast club for now. I still think it’s a great idea but I feel very strongly I am not yet capable (and wonder if I ever will be) to write that particular film. Perhaps some day, or perhaps with a great screenwriter who gets what I want to do. (Great screenwiters, feel free to Apply anytime)

But if you think that by dropping that mean little beast I have now less on my plate, you couldn’t be more wrong!! All of the sudden I find myself outlining one potentially commercial project for television, Half went off in such a direction that I have to start researching all again and to top it all off, I started writing fiction again, just to get away from all the structure of screenwriting.

So as you can see; busy like an evil overlord plotting the destruction of the known universe.

And while at times it gets tedious and frustrating… I mean, I’ve stared at multiple computer screens, notebooks and a wall filled with note cards for over two months now, and I’m again starting with what was once Half. from scratch. If you were to look at it from the outside you would probably think I made no progress at all. I just wrote stuff and threw it all out again. Not a second glance, not a regret…

But also, I don’t feel like I wasted my time. (Though perhaps those couple of days when I was trying to catch up on Fringe and then I just watched Fringe for three days straight and couldn’t sleep because it was so awesome I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen next…) Every one of those attempts and effort went into creating the seed of the idea I’m now working on.

And that’s how it should be. Writing is a journey of discovery. It’s not like you walk into your office, sit down, jot some words on paper and voilà, there’s a story. It takes a lot of work and effort and coffee to get anywhere. It can go in so many directions, and sometimes you just need to eliminate those paths that won’t get you where you want to go. It’s not like you can see from the beginning of the road where you will end up, so you need to walk it to see for yourself. Every single path, and they all branch off in other paths and those branch of in other paths again. Ad Infinitum. Sometimes it shows you a way you didn’t think was going to be interesting… But then you are there, wandering those paths and you find you want to go somewhere completely else. Somewhere you hadn’t planned on going… But now you’re going down that road, it seems a lot better than all those other paths…

That’s basically where I am at now. Half. has been shelved. Probably forever. Instead it’s turning into this wonderful new adventure with wonderful new friends and worlds and images to play with. I’m not going to say much about it. All I will tell you is that it’s called “A Very Grimm Adventure” and it deals with the destructive nature of fairy-tales. I find it very exciting and very difficult. Right now I’m still looking for the right kind of tone, but already I’m having so much fun with it all.

And that’s all I’m going to say for now. When I get further in the project I’ll probably elaborate on it a bit more. For now it’s still too delicate and too unstable to discuss. I don’t yet know what it is exactly. And until I do, I simply cannot speak of it. I did it once, to a friend who was very enthusiastic and came up with some ideas, but it nearly killed my idea because it was still so fragile. The seed hadn’t hatched. It still needs some time to grow and develop; it still needs a lot of fucking work to make it work.

But fortunately I do have one person I can bounce my ideas off and have constructive chats with. I nicknamed him Major Awesome, and not for no reason. It’s very nice to have that person who understands what you want and how fluid an idea really is. We spent two afternoons on Skype trying to come up with ideas for this world and our Characters. He mostly steps in whenever I am stuck and bounces some ideas around with me. He comes with suggestions, points me to things I have overlooked and always urges me to stay on Character. I don’t know if I could write without him, but I do know that I don’t want to write without him.

And I think for everyone who is doing the things we do, you should have that person you can trust completely… Creatively. And don’t give me the crap that you have a boyfriend who you trust completely. That’s not the same (I assume). First of all, those things inevitably end in tears and you’ve lost your writing partner. Second of all… Who in the world trusts their boyfriend? That’s just ridiculous.

No, what you need is a writing buddy. You don’t need him to type, you just need someone to fall back on, to wrench open your brain when it’s got itself stuck. Someone to help you approach things from a different angle… and most importantly, someone who you can rely on to tell you it’s crap. Someone who is always honest with you… So that when he or she says it’s crap… you know it’s crap. This is important, because when they tell you it’s good. It’s really good.

And that is sometimes hard to believe or see when you are buried underneath self-doubt and confused about what it is you’re trying to do. Whatever people say about writing. It isn’t easy. It’s hard and difficult and we need those people to fall back on. Who understand us… who understand the story… and most importantly, who understand that some times we just need to hear that we are not completely wasting our lives trying to do what we’re doing.

So, to my good friend Major Awesome, a very heartfelt Thank you. And a promise that this week you’ll have some new stuff to read.

Half. — Before I forget that I am actually still a filmmaker

I’ve been writing so much, I sometimes forget all that hardship and brain damage I’m inflicting upon myself are -in the end- to make a project like this again…
Only bigger… and better…

But… my thesis film is finally online again. The incredible Michelle Hofman synched and subtitled it for me. I am curious as to what the people who haven’t seen it think, so leave a comment. Good or bad, I want to know.

(And also if you find anything weird in the subtitles. Please let me know.)

I’m getting This — Before I Fry my Brains

Sometimes when you are writing, you disappear in your screen. I don’t quite know how to describe it, except that all else fades. You don’t look at the words on paper, you don’t look at your keyboard… The story just unfolds by itself and you stand by in awe to witness it.

Those days are magical… and very rare.

Most days it takes a lot of coffee, sweat, procrastination, tears and self-loathing to get anything done. Not to mention the amounts of hair you pull out, trying to find what you are looking for. Sometimes I worry I might go bald. I’m serious.

Today was one of those days where it seemed impossible to get into the zone. Writing was going decent enough; it just took so much effort and a continued racking of my brain that at some point I got actually worried I would fry my brains out of my skull. That the gooey stuff my mind is made of would drip out from out from behind my eyeballs onto my keyboard and forever render me incapable of going to the bathroom by myself. (Which is nice when you run out of toilet paper, but rather an uncomfortable hassle in all other cases.)

Usually, I put on classical music on these kind of days, except I was sitting in a coffee shop where they insisted on blasting terrible pop music from a Television (Word of advice: Don’t ever use your television as a speaker system. It’s a show of bad taste in more ways than you can imagine). So, while I was trying to listen to Bach’s excellent English Suites, Rihanna’s droning beats kept leaking through. And instead of focusing on the story in front of me, a part of my brain had to filter her crappy music out. This can be done of course, but not without also filtering out my own music. And it takes a ridiculous amount of energy and focus that I really needed for writing instead. In the end, I just gave in; turned off my music and let the sound of the coffee shop and Rihanna’s screeches fill my ears.

I wrote about 2000 words in the course of the day. This is a terrible rate, but given the fact that I am still outlining and making everything up from scratch… It is not too bad. The thing is, however… When I finally gave up, I felt like… well, imagine Zombie infestation taking over your grey matter. That’s what it felt like. I was basically turning into a drooling zombie behind a keyboard.

I walked home enjoying the quiet, when all of the sudden I noticed that Rihanna was stuck in my head. And the funny part is, that I don’t actually know the words to her song… But it was still there in my head going on and on about how she loves the way he lies… (Since I don’t really know the lyrics I have no context as to why this is… But isn’t that ALWAYS a very weird thing to say.) And I just couldn’t get rid of it… So I was a drooling zombie humming along to Rihanna simultanously screaming at myself to shut up.

And I wonder why people sometimes stare at me…

Now I am just sitting at home, trying to watch the first episode of the new season of Sherlock… Which features Miss Adler so it must be great.. I wouldn’t know because I am just too fried to follow it, and am instead googling for noise reducing headphones. So, when my first paycheck comes in I’m getting those bad boys…

Because if I don’t, I really do worry my brains might leak out through my nose (which is an image I’m just putting out there to gross you out!)

So, I’m gonna turn off Sherlock because that man deserves my full attention and I cannot give it to him right now… I am just going to take a bath… Listen to some music and turn in early. If I really was as cool as I like to be, I would go out for a run instead. But it’s cold and dark and I am lazy and tired.

My apologies for this pointless post about this wickedly cool gadget I’m going to buy… I wasn’t planning on writing it… But I’ve never one to suffer in silence. So when Rihanna’s droning on in my head, so help me God… I will do anything to get it stuck in you’re head as well… You’re welcome.

Here’s something that IS fun to read! It’s about Zombies. You’re welcome. Again.

A Conversation with the asshole within — (who doesn’t really appreciate my appeciation for Indiana Jones)

This is not a blog post about Spider-Man. I just used it to illustrate that the asshole within is kinda like venom. This evil, dark thing that takes over the good side of me… Just read Spider-Man if you’re wondering about it, ok. It’s too much to get into right now.

I can safely say that it’s been a while since I last decided to grace you with tales of my adventures. Mostly because there were no adventures to speak of. I was a bit lost in an endless ocean of closing doors and self-doubt.

I am a pretty confident person on the outside, but the voice within tells me on regular intervals that I am a sad loser who will die alone without ever accomplishing anything. This is also the voice that tells me I am either fat or ugly (with good hair though. It can never criticize the hair) or a klutz or self-centered or not good enough in any other way possible. (Sometimes it even tells me I am the evilest person she knows, but I find that strangely reassuring for some reason). I think you’ve all met this inner voice as well. It is what people in the old days would probably be calling God. I just call it that tiny voice in the back of my head that I should never listen to because she is an asshole…

But sometimes it is hard to ignore that criticizing asshole in your head. I’d been looking for a job and my failure rate was monumental. I think I send out my résumé to over 40 different people, and got 0 (zero, nill…  yes, nothing) answers. I had tried to write on my screenplay, but I was stuck in an endless loop of a structural problem that I couldn’t write myself out of. So basically, every day I sat behind my computer and never accomplished anything. It gets frustrating at some point.

So, sizing up -and reveling in- the sheer intensity of my failure to find a job or do some constructive writing, the voice within became very vocal. And for some reason it was really hard to shut her up. I tried to reason with her. I took her aside when we were alone and I sat her down on a chair. I said: “Hey Listen, you’re not being very helpful right now. I could do with some support instead of your nagging voice telling me that I’m a giant weirdo.”

She just shrugged and said: “But you are a giant weirdo. I mean…. look at yourself. You are 25 years old with no skills to speak of… Also, you’re a lousy dancer.”

And while she may have been a bitch about it; she was right. I have no discernible skills… And I really am a terrible dancer.

I am a 25-year-old, who still hopes she can marry Indiana Jones some day and that we will spend our weekends playing Duck Hunt on the NES before running off on daring adventures involving mystical artifacts and killing Nazi’s. I’m not even kidding either. If I could choose any future, that would be it. I don’t even have to think about it. I’d be crazy happy being Mrs. Indiana Jones.

But it turns out, there isn’t really a market for that… except perhaps in the lunatic asylum… and at the moment I am still crossing my fingers that it’ll be some good twenty years before I end up there.

So, my inner asshole had me doubting and she wouldn’t shut up. I wasn’t feeling too well, because the old stomach injury was acting up again (or visa versa… it’s amazing how that thing turns up every time I am in my unhappy place) So, yea, throwing up all over the place, unemployed and cold is where I hit rock bottom.

And there I lay, staring at the world wondering what the hell I was supposed to do or be. For a while I tried to drown the voice out with the company of my dear old friend, Mr. Alcohol. But that wasn’t working either. In fact, it just made the voice come back even stronger and more vicious. So, I was about to give up and accept that I am and always will be a giant loser.

And then, as quickly as it went, my mental resolve (some would refer to this part of me as: That arrogant asshole that always knows and does everything better than anyone else) returned to me. I realized that the doubting voice was the crazy part of me. The self-doubt was not only unhelpful, it was a complete liar. I am very capable of many things. Too many things, one can argue, as I did. I can write quite well (especially in 140 characters or less) and I have a broad understanding of many different subjects (most of them pointless, but awesome nevertheless). I might be a terrible dancer, but I am a great drinker, a good conversationalist and extremely skilled in finding cute pictures of puppies on the Internet.

And with that argument I punched the inner asshole in the face. It was a neat right hook and I enjoyed giving it. I realized that even if I don’t find a job, I have nothing to lose. I can and should enjoy the time that I have here and spent it writing… not doubting myself because I cannot find a job I really don’t care all that much about anyways.

And with that realization the ideas and stories all came running back to me. The asshole within crawled back into her dark hiding place, where it lies now, waiting for a day it can come back out again and torment me.

For now, it just screams at me from the deep end of my brain. If I listen really hard I can just hear the echo of her words: “You may think you’ve won, you self-righteous prick… but we both know I’ll be back… and next time I’ll bring a friend!… or a gun… Or… well, anyways. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’ll be back. Stupid f*&ing….  “

And then she just swears a lot. For now I just laugh. The bitchy inner voice has lost yet again. The darkness has lifted and I really don’t care all that much about my lack of practical skills. Somewhere on this planet there is something I am awesome at…

And if it’s not writing or making movies, I sure hope it’s being Mrs. Indiana Jones…

Who doesn't love Indy. I mean, just look at him. The man looks just as in his place in an Oxford class room as he does in a treacherous jungle cave. With his cool looks, suave 40's mannerisms and manly quips he just melts my heart. And to top it all off, his dad is freaking James Bond! What's not to like, people? Seriously... what's not to like? The giant chest and arms all wrapped up in a neat leather jacket? The fact that he shoots first, asks questions later? The heart of gold tinged here and there with the slightest hint of opportunism that will lead him to save innocent kids from a cruel Thuggee clan? The fact that his name is Indiana Walton Jones? Come on, the man has got it all.. (I am deliberately ignoring Indiana Jones 4. Anyone who mentions Indiana Jones for will be banned for life. Indiana Jones 4 did not happen... Understood?!)

I wouldn’t be writing this if the Earth got invaded by Space Cowboys…

Today this Blog hits 500 views. Congratulations to all of you for that accomplishment. You’ve officially proved that you have very little to do with your time and should perhaps find a hobby.

Because that is what it is, right? A mix of procrastination and boredom with a hint of self-loathing. I mean, I hope that’s what it is and you are not reading this out of courtesy to me. I enjoy writing this, but care little about who reads it.

I am fine with you not reading, though I’m flattered that you do… But even I can see that not all posts are as well written as I would hope they are (take this one for example). I am still getting the hang of this Blogging thing. It’s harder than you think. But i think I am improving a little. It might still be slightly incoherent, but at least it’s nicely phrased.

I remember when I picked up Blogging again a couple of months ago, I quickly felt like it is something bored people do… You have nothing better to do, so you Blog about nonsense. But now that I am not so bored anymore, I still enjoy it. It’s all nonsense of course, but that is a personal habit that can’t be ironed out over the course of a few months…

For people who come here to read about my adventures in London. I’m not sure I’m gonna be writing much about them. Real life adventures are hard to make interesting. I keep waiting for stuff to blow up, or aliens to land, or George Clooney to walk in… and for some strange reason that never happens. And then I do get bored with my own story.

I mean, yesterday I hung out in a bar and drank delicious Strawberry beer. That’s not an interesting tale. And I could tell you what happened around 10 PM with a group forty-somethings; they were spectacularly wasted and all fell to the floor, picked themselves up, brushed the dirt of their clothes and went on drinking… But you really had to be there to understand what went down. It might have been one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. Someone told me it was really not that unusual which made me even sadder.

So, yea. Brits. Sad people who cannot hold their liquor. But that’s not a story. That’s common knowledge (especially to those who live in Amsterdam and see the sad remainders of a once proud culture drag themselves from bar to bar, curiously wearing pink cowboy hats and very little else that constitutes as clothing).  I think by now everyone can see that an Alien Invasion would have made this story ten times more interesting.

I mean, then we are going places. Imagine now that those drunk forty-year-olds had to save us from the vengeful ways of the mean-spirited Zorkians who as it so happens need all our alcohol to power their ship. Now we have a situation… Because no one comes between a depressed and desperate Brit and their national sport -Getting shitfaced after work- and expects to live…

Now I wish that had happened… I for sure wouldn’t be blogging about it.

So, I’m on the fence whether or not blogging is a form of boredom. If I were fighting for my life (or just a chance to go with the Zorkians to the Final Frontier), I sure as hell wouldn’t take the time out to tell you about it. Every woman for herself, suckers…

But there might be a bit of a gray area between fighting for your life and absolute boredom. I say might because I’m not really good with gray tones. I’m more of a black/white person myself. But I suppose I am currently occupying a state that is somewhere between running for my life from angry blobs of space mass and apathetically staring at a white wall wondering why the time won’t go any faster.

I was thinking really hard to bring this whole post to a satisfying conclusion that actually made sense when I just realized that I spent most of this week staring at a white wall, and because of that I had no time to blog. I’m not saying boredom inhibits blogging (one only has to sign in to Tumblr to disprove that hypothesis). No, I was staring at a wall, not blogging about if for a whole nother reason.

It partly stemmed from my body having a really hard time accepting that I again wasn’t with spawn this month, (my body is like, Hurry the fuck up dude… I want to safeguard my wonderful genes by procreating… But then my brain goes… Didn’t you get the memo, that’s not happening. And then my body goes like… Shuck, I really though we could do it this time… and my brain just laughs with no regards for my body’s feeling… and my body is hurting real bad.)  (Yea, I just wrote that. Deal with it…)

(continuing) But mostly it was because I was outlining my story on the wall. Turns out the story kind of writes itself. Except all it wants to write is the ending. I have a killer third act… and a nice ending to the second act. I have an opening sequence… and that’s about it.

A whole lot of white.

And that concludes the train of thought. I had no time to Blog because I was busy staring at a giant white wall trying to fill it with fluorescent post-its.. Which proves Blogging really is a form of boredom.

Boredom can happen when you're fighting Stormtroopers too

Also, to those of you who finished reading this. Damn man, get a hobby. Seriously. Painting is nice, learn to speak Chinese, Watch the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (or if you feel particularly geeky… I have all the screenplays) or just get really, really drunk (you never know when those Zorkians come to take the Alcohol away). There must be better things to do than read this blog… (kidding, I know there aren’t… This Blog is awesome.)