Outlining and NaNoWriMo.

"Outlining and I have heard each others' names before. I believe we once attended the same meeting and even shook hands. (What we shook hands on, I shall never remember.) But we never developed a proper relationship, and if I need the help that outlining can provide, rest assured I will not receive it."

- Something I said about outlining earlier today.

I was talking to a friend on the subject of National Novel Writing Month. We are considering doing it on some level. I'm going to take a story idea I currently have (which of the story ideas, I'm not yet completely sure). I have already written some scenes for it (whichever one I choose), and I am in the process of writing some scenes for it (again, whichever one). So I'm not completely starting from scratch, but I've decided to embrace the idea that I can do the parts of it that I don't want to do and just do the parts I want. That is, I can write 50,000 words in November, but if I want to include some words that weren't written in November, that's fine, too. I am seriously just doing whatever I want here.

I have nothing more to say on the matter.

In which I say something awesome, Doctorish, and witty.

Yesterday, I did something I'm rather proud of and that I feel very good about. It started out with me reading this article (which is about how scientists have discovered a distant planet that is essentially a diamond bigger than Earth). The first comment I see is by some dude who basically says that this is uninteresting and unimportant because a giant planet made of diamond cannot benefit our species. I reply with this stinger:

"I don't mean to insult you, but I think it's the mark of an awfully small mind to think that a planet is only valuable or interesting if it's habitable by humans, especially if said planet has some kind of distinguishing factor such as, I don't know, perhaps being made of diamond."

Another guy posts soon thereafter, telling me that I'm absolutely right and that he approves of what I said. He then says something about how this is valuable because we've learned something about our universe (or somesuch) and I tell him that's a great summation of what science is like.

The first guy then says something to the effect of, "Okay, it's a planet made of diamond, yaaay! There are billions out there like it, what's the point of it, other than that it's a big diamond in space?"

My response:

"See, here's the thing - there are some things that are amazing because they can benefit us in ways we had never expected. And then there are things that are amazing simply because we find them and we think, 'Wow, that's completely out-there, we never thought we'd find it, it's beautiful and strange and fantastic!' If I were telling someone just a few days ago about the concept of a huge diamond planet, they'd say, 'Oh, that's a nice fantasy. Go write a sci-fi story for it. That IS what you were talking about, right? Just a story.' But now we know that one exists, and it proves that the universe is amazing and incredible beyond what we think it is.

Things don't have to be useful to be valid. Sometimes, it's enough for them to be beautiful. Sometimes, it's enough for a planet made of diamond to exist to qualify it as amazing. Now, I understand that it's important to use science to find things that benefit humans. I perfectly understand that. But at the same time, some things that science discovers are beautiful just because they ARE. Have you ever seen or been exposed to something - a sunset, a painting, an animal, a really good song - and think, 'That's beautiful' or 'that's wonderful', even though it didn't benefit you or humanity in a utilitarian way? That's what this planet is like.

As for whether or not there are planets like this out in the universe - you're right, there probably are more huge chunks of diamond that we can't use for anything, just going in circles around stars our telescopes can't even reach. What makes this one any different? Well, just because there's a lot of them doesn't make it any less special. That's like suggesting that one person isn't special because there's, what, seven billion others on the planet just like them. Like saying, 'No, why do you think you're a special person? The world is full of people. There's loads of people. Many of them are even like you in a lot of ways.' But no. It doesn't work that way. Whether we're talking about people or planets, each one is special and important and magnificent in its own way, simply by virtue of existing and being what it is. And you don't get that. I'm sorry, but you really don't get that? And I don't say that to be patronizing or insulting or anything. It just makes me sad that things like this don't fill you with even the slightest bit of wonder and that you think that, just because we can't do anything with it to serve the human race or because there are most likely billions of other diamond planets out there, it's not worth our time or attention. That's really quite sad."

The guy who posted the original comment then says, "LOL......ok.....smh......lol.....wow....LOLOLOL.....You're a real doozy......"

I said, "Why, thank you."

So yeah. I feel like a winner.

Image? What image?

Before all this stuff with the major awards (i.e. acceptances) and back when the only things I had actually published were two little poems - this was perhaps three or so weeks back - I was talking to a friend of mine about how the only two things I had ever published were about suicide and how I wondered if my next publications would continue in that theme.

Her response - and I of course don't recall everything she said, but imagine that my paraphrasings will suffice in place of exact quotes - was, "It takes a certain image to pull that off."

And I had this moment of, "What, precisely, is she talking about?" So I said, "Image? Expound, please."

She said, "Themes like suicide are associated with whiny goths or Byronic heroes. It takes a certain degree of jerkishness and controlled darkness to pull things like that off effectively."

I said, "Ah, I see." But inside, I was thinking, "Image? What image?"

I know there are a number of would-be writers/musicians/artists/other such people who worry an awful lot about what their "image" will be - how the public will perceive them, how they will present themselves as a persona, etc. I worried about such things when I was, what, thirteen. At the age of thirteen, I was still under the impression that, when I wrote, it would be appreciated by the mass public and that I would appear for book signings and talks in front of people, and all that stuff.

Nowadays, I don't think about an image at all. Perhaps if I were a musician or actor or sort of person who makes public appearances as part of the job, I would worry about how I was perceived by people and thus try to shape an image for myself. But I'm a writer. The thing about being a writer is that people don't see you. You don't appear on movie and television screens. You don't go on stage in front of hundreds of people. You don't even go to art gallery displays and talk about the cryptic meaning of your sculpture that looks more like a cross between a bicycle and a bucket than anything else. Alright. That last sentence was less me being serious and more me having fun with the idea of "art people". I acknowledge that, in art, people probably don't "see you", either. But I honestly don't know how the art world works, nor am I talking about it. I am talking about the writing world. 

I don't know how that works, either, but I do know that people don't see you in the writing world. You're just the name on the book cover and maybe in the "about the author" bit, if such a bit exists. (Assuming you're publishing books and not short stories/poems. If the latter is the case, then you can forget about having an image even more so.) So my writing about suicide and the sort of "image" I would have to work for really don't cross my mind at all. Since I'm almost certainly not going to gain any level of fame - not the sort where I'll be making public appearances and people will even remember what I looked and acted like - I don't have to put any effort into an image whatsoever. I don't.

For those who are curious, though, if I did find myself in such a place where I had to develop an "image", I would act in a sort of understatedly quirky way, the sort of way one might act if one didn't entirely know what one was doing where one was but had been told there would be some exciting adventure and was currently acting like said adventure was already going on. But I'd also discuss dark or sad things with great cheerfulness and no hesitation about disclosing the details of my psychological dysfunctions. But after talking about that for thirty seconds, I'd likely want to turn the topic to something else, such as what a former teacher of mine told me about sea hares or how I microwave my tea when it gets cold. I'd wear a vest or coat or something, and I'd always have my question mark pin on somewhere. I'd sometimes wear a hat (which would probably become my "iconic item", so I'd of course have to wear it all the time) and I'd always wear jeans of some dark color and scuffed-up/adventurey-looking boots. Sometimes, I'd do something completely different and dress up like a psychedelic dandy from some 1960's band, still acting the same, of course. If it seems like I've put too much thought into it for something that's not going to happen, know that this is essentially an exaggeration/distillation of how I normally act and dress.

So there you have it. A basic run-down of how I feel about image and the like. In other news, I just discovered that I do not have my medications with me (having left them at a relative's house), and I won't realistically be able to acquire them at least until tomorrow afternoon or so. This means I will miss at least two doses. My bipolar disorder (which I have been trying to be more out about and accepting of) has been acting up ever-so-slightly lately (actually, possibly not very slightly - I seriously don't know anymore). I do hope I take everything pretty well.

Also, I just realized that I mentioned I had bipolar disorder. Which is, to some people, a form of crazy. I totally forgot that "crazy" can be part of one's image, too. I suppose I'll add "crazy" to the list of all the wonderful things I thought I'd be like in that paragraph. Hurrah.