As various readers may be more or less aware, I write. Less so this year than I used to, but I'm planning to work on that.
I like to listen to music when I write, a lot of the time. Sarah McLachlan does wonders for my creative output, although I once wrote an intensely romantic seen listening to the Doug Anthony All Stars, which just goes to show really that sometimes I tune it out completely. But sometimes I draw active inspiration from the music - Path of Thorns was very much inspired by one of her songs (guess which).
That said: I really, really hope I don't find myself writing a story based on Warm Leatherette, by the normal. A song of lust and car crashes is not my style, and yet - I'm tempted to write something called A Song of Lust and Car Crashes, and would except the title scans badly.
Tonight Mein Vater talked to me for a rather extended period of time about some software he's working on. Not that interesting, but worth it to maintain the good mood he was in because he came home to the fresh hot dinner I'd cooked... God, this is 50s.
"We are now entering Hell. Please keep your hands and elbows inside the car."
We're all of us different people in different circumstances. I think, though, I'm slightly odd in that my every persona has a different name - which would be why I get more uppity than most about that thing in Voyager fanfic for calling Seven of Nine Annika as soon as she gets into a relationship with someone. I don't see it as credible because of the importance of names to identity, and she doesn't identify as a human being named Annika. She is Seven of Nine - Borg, then neither Borg nor Human... But that's all material for my Fangirl Goes Academia essay I'll eventually write.
The point is, I answer to more names than any rational human being should. Rae, Raeby, Sunny, Sonnlich... And others. But every one of those names has meaning.
Most things do. Even my jewellery has meaning, for me. I generally only wear necklaces, but which necklace I choose, and if I wear a necklace, as a rule indicates something about my emotional state when I got dressed. Because every necklace I wear was given to me, and so there's all this stuff tied into them that's all about the origin of the necklace, and how long I've had it, and what the design represents.
There's all these layers of meaning to my life that I can't help thinking are really really cool, but which only apply to me, and which only I am aware of, and when I stop to think about that I realise too that it's probably like that for *everyone* and we just don't see it in each other, and then I realise there's this whole, amazing world full of complex and amazing people and I'll never get to see it all, ever.
And then I think further, and figure probably most of the people out there aren't all that complex and amazing, and I'll just have to settle for loving the complex and amazing people I do know. Which I do. But the whole thought process is an emotional rollercoaster of some kind.
I like to listen to music when I write, a lot of the time. Sarah McLachlan does wonders for my creative output, although I once wrote an intensely romantic seen listening to the Doug Anthony All Stars, which just goes to show really that sometimes I tune it out completely. But sometimes I draw active inspiration from the music - Path of Thorns was very much inspired by one of her songs (guess which).
That said: I really, really hope I don't find myself writing a story based on Warm Leatherette, by the normal. A song of lust and car crashes is not my style, and yet - I'm tempted to write something called A Song of Lust and Car Crashes, and would except the title scans badly.
Tonight Mein Vater talked to me for a rather extended period of time about some software he's working on. Not that interesting, but worth it to maintain the good mood he was in because he came home to the fresh hot dinner I'd cooked... God, this is 50s.
"We are now entering Hell. Please keep your hands and elbows inside the car."
We're all of us different people in different circumstances. I think, though, I'm slightly odd in that my every persona has a different name - which would be why I get more uppity than most about that thing in Voyager fanfic for calling Seven of Nine Annika as soon as she gets into a relationship with someone. I don't see it as credible because of the importance of names to identity, and she doesn't identify as a human being named Annika. She is Seven of Nine - Borg, then neither Borg nor Human... But that's all material for my Fangirl Goes Academia essay I'll eventually write.
The point is, I answer to more names than any rational human being should. Rae, Raeby, Sunny, Sonnlich... And others. But every one of those names has meaning.
Most things do. Even my jewellery has meaning, for me. I generally only wear necklaces, but which necklace I choose, and if I wear a necklace, as a rule indicates something about my emotional state when I got dressed. Because every necklace I wear was given to me, and so there's all this stuff tied into them that's all about the origin of the necklace, and how long I've had it, and what the design represents.
There's all these layers of meaning to my life that I can't help thinking are really really cool, but which only apply to me, and which only I am aware of, and when I stop to think about that I realise too that it's probably like that for *everyone* and we just don't see it in each other, and then I realise there's this whole, amazing world full of complex and amazing people and I'll never get to see it all, ever.
And then I think further, and figure probably most of the people out there aren't all that complex and amazing, and I'll just have to settle for loving the complex and amazing people I do know. Which I do. But the whole thought process is an emotional rollercoaster of some kind.
posted by Sami at
8:17:00 AM
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