Growing Older

Yesterday, I turned 28.

To me, that sounds really old.  I think I'm still stuck with the mentality (and attention span) of a 12 year old. 

With my birthday came lots of slightly depressing thoughts.  I’m stuck in a job I hate (and I'll be stuck in it forever), I'll never get published, I'll never amount to anything, nice little thoughts like that.  All of which came about because, crikey, 28 sounds old to me.

But I guess it's really not.  I've been told several times in the past few days that life doesn't even really start till 30. 

And I want to believe.

So I will. 

I want things to get better; I want to mean something, and the only way that will happen is for me to do something about it. 

I've spent a lot of time procrastinating lately; not wanting to make decisions, not wanting to commit myself to doing things.  That's going to stop now.  Think of it as a New Years Resolution, only in April. 

I made a decision a long time ago to do my best to be happy all the time, to not let things get me down.  I'm not great at it, but I feel I've been doing pretty well.

Well, now I'm going to make the same decision in regards to what I do with my time. 

I have a lot of projects planned.  I have books and short stories to write, I have music to write / record, I have a house to fix, art and jewellery to create…

So, I’m going to do them.  I'm going to get the projects I have planned done, and more.

And I'm going to find a way to promote myself more, to try to get published. 

Because I’m not 30 yet.

But by the time I am? 

I want all those people who told me life starts at 30 to be right

Sex (and death)

Sex.

 

Blood violence sex.

 

So, Game of Thrones (the TV show) has started again.  I watched a few episodes of the first season way back, and stopped.  I've read the first four books, but I've pretty much given up on them.

 

Why, you might ask.  Why would I not like arguably the most popular fiction novels since Harry Potter?

 

Honestly?

 

Too much violence.  Too much sex.  Too much everything goes wrong.

 

I understand that lots of people seem to enjoy this.  The gritty, 'realistic' trend that's hit books, TV, and movies lately.  Mad Men, everyone's an ass, Breaking Bad, everyone's an ass, Game of Thrones, everyone's a murderous, incestuous ass.

 

I know this is just a very minority opinion.  I just don't enjoy it.

 

I enjoy reading the fantastical for the fantastical.  I enjoy David Eddings and Brandon Sanderson, because even if some bad things DO happen, they're generally tempered by all the good things that come later.

 

My favourite TV show is Dr. Who, where nothing bad ever happens and the Doctor always solves everything, or close enough to.

 

I don't feel I should go on about this for too long, as it's a pretty unpopular opinion these days I feel.  But to me, TV, movies, books, when they're fiction, they're about escaping.  History shows, self-help books, sure, they should be more 'real', but when I'm trying to escape from the death and sex, the blood and guts and reality that exist every day around us, well, I'd rather escape into something that isn't as dark (if not darker).

 

Again, this is just me.  And I'm not sure my writing really reflects my personal opinion either.

My first novel, the Fire and the Fog, was originally much darker.  After a few re-writes, it came out lighter, with only a few instances of death, but the theme of depression still measures heavily throughout.

 

So why am I saying all this?  Why am I complaining about all the blood and sex and violence in media, when I myself am, at least slightly, a perpetrator of it?

 

Honestly?

 

I don't know.  It's what was on my mind when I decided to write.  I probably read too many articles about Game of Thrones' season opener today.

 

In other, more writing-related, news...

 

I've made pretty much no progress on writing.

 

I've hit a roadblock.  I have three main characters from my first novel that I want to continue with into the second.  I know where they're going to start (the ending of the first book), and I know where I want them to go (the beginning of a third book).  For two of the characters, I have an entire books sequence of events mapped out.

 

The third character, however, I'm having trouble with.  He's in a state of flux.  Based on his character and what I know of him, half of me wants to find a way to continue writing him in, to find a way to save him.  But the other half of me feels, knows, that he should die.

 

This break, this character in flux, is holding a lot up.  Not because I couldn't write without knowing what happens to him, I could.  I could do a lot of writing with his status undetermined.  But it feels wrong.  It feels like the writing I'm doing without knowing what happens to him is just a stopgap, that it isn't important.

 

So I've been spending more and more time lately arguing with myself over what will happen to this character, and I'm no closer to a decision.

 

It makes it hard to write.

 

It's a sad excuse, I know.  But I like him.  I like the character.  And not knowing whether to keep him or kill him off; not knowing which works better for the story, for the world, for the character himself.  It's hard.  It's almost draining, in a way.

 

Which brings me back to the first topic, way up at the top.  The sex, and violence, and death.  How can I disagree with what other authors are doing, when I'm considering killing off one of my own characters?

 

I don't know.  Answers aren't really something I've ever been terribly good at.

 

But I guess I'll keep trying to ask myself the question.