I guess getting treatment does mean losing yourself. I started Invega and since then have not done much of anything as far as writing. I’ve just been sort of here, doing nothing. I did so some editing, but making grammatical corrections is hardly creation. The only creation I really do is drawing odd pictures at 1am for no apparent reason except to bring about some sense of normalcy. I don’t even really know why I draw them. It’s more an act of compulsion than anything. Sometimes it’s odd, almost random shapes while other times it’s faces. Here are some photos cropped down for size.
Other times I just seem to be writing random things down on paper and not on the computer, again, as if by compulsion. Here is an example.
Due to some odd compulsion, I feel like I have to stick them on the walls of my bedroom so that’s where they are. I talked to my therapist about this and we came to the conclusion that I am trying to find the voice I lost once I started taking the medication. Although I am sick, I’ve managed to still hold onto logic for the most part which I think is the reason why I’ve not gone completely over the edge. I know doing these things doesn’t make any logical sense, but for some reason I still like I have to do them. When I started taking the Invega, within a few days, that little voice I’ve heard virtually my entire life was silenced. Trying to live without it is…well, I can’t really describe it. It’s like trying to relearn how to live your life after learning how everything you already know. Simple things like reading and tying your shoes feels different and can be difficult at times. With reading, I can look at the words and understand them and know what they are trying to tell me, but when you’ve had a voice in your head other than your own reading to you all your life, when that voice is gone, it’s a very different experience. Essentially, I am having to learn how to read to myself all over again; this time with my voice doing the talking. I know. Technically speaking it was always my voice, but then again, it really wasn’t.
I find myself sometimes pausing while doing common things in life like putting away dishes. I remember the other day doing this and feeling embarrassed because it was something so simple, yet I became confused when putting up a bowl. I’ve always been so good at hiding things so as I’ve always done, I keep quiet for the most part when these things happen, but sometimes I can’t hide such matters. While speaking with one of my doctor today, I found myself wondering if I were using my own voice and becoming confused with what I was saying. Then a black butterfly flew through the room and I was the only one that could see it.
I think about films such as Donnie Darko and I read things from people that say “Oh, he’s so cool! I want to be just like him!” Are you kidding me? Donnie Darko was a paranoid Schizophrenic. I know it was just a movie and he was the hero and I can appreciate a great art film, but he really was going through something similar. Something was, in a sense, distorting who he was. Do these people think this is fun? Really? You know, I’d cry over this shit, but this god damn Invega has me so numb that I can’t feel a god damn thing! I might as well not even be breathing! I can’t feel anger. I can’t feel sadness. I can’t feel happy. I’m just here, taking up space. This is NOT fun. This is what hell must be like. I guess I must have really screwed up in a past life to deserve this.
I lost my voice. I lost a voice that actually helped me. Yes, by definition, it made me insane, but it brought out some of the most beautiful things about me as well. Now that she…yes, it’s a she…is gone, I can’t write anymore. It feels like that part of my brain has turned off. It feels like the connection just isn’t working anymore. I sit down to write and for the first time really in my life, I have a block. I used to be able to sit and just write and write and write. Now the only thing I can write are things like this which is really just me speaking out loud and writing it down. Call me insane if you want. I don’t care anymore. That’s another little side effect of the Invega. My apathy level is piquing. I am getting to the point where I just don’t care one way or another what happens to me. If I die, I die. I would say I want to care, but I don’t care about that either. I’ve had enough. This is pointless.
It’s finished. A few slight oversights aside, it is ready for Amazon and BN.com. I kept getting feedback that my first book was quite long. Anyone who got through that work and felt that way will appreciate the fact that this one comes in at a whopping 278 pages so its much shorter. I would still recommend reading the first book though as this one picks up where the other left off. With the first book, I had to lay a lot of groundwork and with this one, all I had to do was simply touch on some of it as a sort of reminder. As a stand alone book, this one still has some good chops, but I think to really get into the characters, it will benefit most people to give Rumbling Heart a read as well.
All I really have left to do is type up a Synopsis and upload the work and it’s all done. I hope this book satisfies my loyal followers as it focuses on the same characters as the first book and continues to explore their lives. There are at least 2 major twists in this work. They are so big that they are pretty hard to miss…in fact, they may club you in the face. Be sure to check out the Facebook event as I will be giving away at least 2 copies of RB to those attending. Great thing about the event…you don’t even have to go anywhere or be somewhere at a specific time. All you have to do is click attend. Your support is greatly appreciated.
I’ve settled on this title. This will be book two in a series of what should be four novels that I will complete. Obviously, book 1 is out and available and I am currently working on it’s follow up. I am trying to hone in on the idea so I can produce this book in far less time than the first. This book doesn’t require me to lay much groundwork as that’s already been done so its overall size will be smaller, making it a much faster read. The last book came in at about 500 pages and about 220k words. This one I am thinking will be about 300 at most, but I will pack just as much entertainment into it.
Being that it will be a smaller book, I am also planning on having a lower purchase price as well. While the reading of RM may not be necessary, it is definitely advisable as some of the early themes set on RH play out in this book and will continue to play out through the series. The 3rd and 4th book will not be as long, similar in size to this current work and will probably see similar pricing. I have already started working on the cover art and I am happy with the early creations. I do not have a projected release date yet, but I am hoping to get it all done by some time in July. That’s right. I want to move right through this book and get onto the next. The overall literary quality should still keep, but the shorter book will help when it comes to revision and editing. While they will not be perfect in every way, I still hope to produce a work worthy of appreciation…and also drop a few plot bombs along the way.
I’ve made a decision in the direction of the story, and for those who have read RH and liked the progression and the character development, RB will be a massive plot twist in itself, forcing the character to make some of the toughest decisions anyone could ever make.
For those that are curious, below is a sample of the art I have been looking at. I may not be able to use this image as I do not own the copyright.
A very interesting chapter indeed. Never written anything quite like it so I know I will definitely need to come back and do some big revisions. It was a challenge to write but I was able to get through it. As it sits, it has 25 pages, but I know that will increase as I will need to add further details.
The next chapter is one of the ones I was looking forward to. It has an old character yet to appear in this next book and I am looking to see how I can write this encounter. Chapter 5 will be another interesting one as it comes right after this one does without any break in the action whatsoever. Chapter 5 will involve a study on sleep and our perceptions while we are snoozing. I think it will draw in all the right interests and spell out exactly what i want to do. I’m a little excited about it and I want to get started on it right away.
When will you realize the state of the world
and the state of your life
and your life that isn’t what you want it to be?
When will you come to the point where something
will mean so much more than what you think it does
and you will want to live for more than just that other person?
I don’t know how I am supposed to feel
when I have nothing to look forward to
and I think all of my accomplishments are pointless
and will soon be forgotten after I die.
I don’t know how I look through other people’s eyes
because I’ve never looked in a mirror
and felt the sense of urgency that I am supposed to feel for the day.
How can I ever forgive myself for lettering go
way too soon and how can I expect you
to keep your promises about subjectivity and serenity?
How can I expand my mind and minimize my pain
when I watch the world move on by and not give a damn
about what it is I have done in this world.
As I write, I’ve started to figure out a few things about the world and why nothing ever seems to change. The world isn’t real. I go out and I attend classes and I watch other people as they go about their day and I realized that what they all do seems almost pointless. I see people go out and drink and smoke and party and it seems to help them deal with what the world is, but I’ve never looked to those options in my life.
I feel like I’m reading the same book over and over again with slight editorially differences from edition to edition. The style changes a little, but it’s still the same old tired story. It makes me think about what is real and what is it that we make up to either make ourselves feel important or to make it seem like our lives have some sort of meaning. I spend 8 months writing and perfecting a book and it was supposed to be some monumental feat. It’s supposed to be some life changing event, but it wasn’t. I’m still just as meaningless and non essential as before, and I think I’m ok with it.
I will finish my planned works and just call it a day. Besides, the world isn’t real, right?
Maybe it’s just the feeling I have right now, but from what I have been thinking about the last few nights is this. I think I will write a few more books, those that have to do with my current characters, and then probably call it quits. Why some might ask, or based on my sales maybe just a handful of people will ask. The answer is simple. There isn’t anything left to write about.
I’ve a strange and often tortured life and for more than 90% of my years, it seems as if I were living for someone else and not myself. I kept telling myself that once I was able to write I book that I would want to read and enjoy that life would somehow suddenly change; like it would take on a whole new meaning and I could finally live for myself and no do all the things I am simply expected to do. Yet, here I am. My book is out and available and while a few people have felt strongly enough about it to see fit to purchase it, I can’t help but feel like nothing has changed at all. Here I am, still doing all the things I don’t want to do and feeling as if I am only here to service the needs of others. Sure, it’s easy to see that writing a book, in a sense, is the same thing, but I beg to differ. I wrote the book not for fame and fortune. I wrote it because I felt I had something to say. I had a story that I thought was amazing and sad and beautiful and terrible and so utterly consuming that i felt the need to put it all down, so that’s exactly what i did. I worked so hard on it that while some dreams of making a real living off of it did seep into my mind, I stopped thinking about that all together and instead focused on writing the best book I could write.
That being said, the story is far from over as the characters will go through changes and, as in real life, both tragedy and wonderment will come into play. Unfortunately, after all that is said and done and the story is out there for all to read, I think, based on my current feelings, that I will be done. I will in no way lax in my style of writing simply to get all this over with. That has not and will never be my intention. Once I give my characters a respectable send off, I will be done and that will be that.
I don’t even care about school or a job or living for that matter as most things I have been a part of in my life, in the end, never really mattered. I don’t have friends and I don’t expect to gain any and I am too old to go out looking for them anymore. Those I knew when I was young have grown and moved on and that’s great. I am glad they were able to make a life for themselves. I look at them now and I think to myself where in the grand scheme of things do I fit? Either I have the absolute worst timing ever, or I simply don’t belong anywhere. I’ve left towns and tried to restart my life in different places, but i began to wonder why things never seemed to work. Now I know why.
Now I know why people never cared much for my company and that’s fine. I know I am difficult and hard to get along with and I know it’s at least partially my fault that people have faded from my life, and I am ok with that. I never expected anyone to want to put up with me for very long and based on that, I guess I have forgiven everyone and, without words, given them an out. I cannot think of a single person in my life who really gave to craps about what I thought or what I felt or cared enough to put things aside for my benefit. It may sound greedy and it probably is, but I can’t help but think to myself just how many times in my life I’ve taken the fall for others and how many times I was left hanging all because someone wanted something or someone else. I cannot get past it and I know it’s my problem and not yours and so I will so what i feel is the right thing and just bow out.
I have 2, maybe 3 more books in me and I am working on them at this moment; feverishly finding the words so that I can give my creations a proper send off. Then after that, I am done and no one will be asked to deal with my crap anymore. I’m just done. I am tired of chasing dreams I cannot catch and I am tired of waiting for anyone to listen. I sit in a room on a floor, typing on a keyboard without a desk and that’s by my own choice, but one would have to think that in all that time that someone would have at least tried to intervene.
Being that I have never felt close to anyone, not even my family, I guess this is probably the way it should be. Till I am through with all this, I will keep recording my butterflies and wondering if there really ever was an Emily Martin. My heart will keep rumbling even though I don’t want it to, and with each beat, I know I will always feel a little pain. No one is there waiting for me, because all my life as the minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years rolled by, I never once saw anyone except myself staring back at me, and I’ve never liked what I saw. How presumptuous of me to think that anyone would see anything different.
Buy Rumbling Heart @ Barnes and Noble
Today, a dream that I’ve dreamed since I was young finally came to fruition. I have , on my own, written, edited, and released a book, completely of my own creation. While I admit I am not Hemingway when it comes to writing novels, I would like to think he would have looked over my book, gave it a good once over and said to me “That a decent start, kid. Keep writing.” Unfortunately, Ernest isn’t alive to give me such positive feedback, so I am having to look elsewhere for readers and honest opinions.
I know I’m not some amazing writer who is going to change the world. Hell, I may not even make you think twice about rereading my book once you have it in your possession, but I hope I can at least entertain you and stimulate your mind, if even for just a few nights while you make it through my novel. I’ve spent countless hours and many late nights working on the words and the text and the idea behind my work just so I can make it as perfect as I can just so I can release and look at it and tell myself that I did it. I really did it.
I cannot say how many times I’ve broken down in tears while writing and editing this book as many of the supposedly fictional scenes do have real life events intertwined in them, many of which I would rather forget, but for reasons I cannot understand, never seem to leave my thoughts.
I am sick and I know I am. That shouldn’t keep me from leaving a mark on this world though. I keep telling myself every single time I wake in the morning that I should give it at least one more go around, just one more try. Just one more try before I cash in my chips. Just one more try before I call off the search. Just one one more try before I hear my exit music begin to play.
I am putting a lot on the line here and I am done hiding behind a fake smile and false positive emotions. I hide it all from everyone, even my family. They see me and they think I am ok, when I know I am not. For all I know, maybe they know I’m not ok and that’s why they keep me around. I still cannot shake those events from December of 2009 and it haunts me every single day. It will always haunt me, but it will not define me. I want to leave a mark, a legacy before it’s all said and done with. With these characters I’ve created, I hope to do just that.
John, Olivia, Emily, The Chris’s, Donna, Stella, Paul, Audrey…they are all a part of me in ways many of you will never understand. While they all, within my work, define what it is to be human, they also show us a side which I wish we could all live up to. While we move through our daily routines and go to our jobs, raise our children, go to our schools, we all, if even for a short moment in time, wish we could be the best person we could possibly be. We all wish the person we were at our best would never leave. We all wish to be the greatest parents to our children. We all wish to be the children that we know would make our parents proud. We all wish to be the husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends that our partners have always wanted. We all wish to be the best friends we could be, letting our friends know that they could come to us for anything and at anytime and never be judged. However, we all know that this isn’t how the world really works.
In the real world, we seem to casually wade through our lives, looking out only for ourselves and never looking back to see the people that we’ve stepped over to get to our final destination. While some of you read this, you all will surely say to yourself “Well, I’ve never done that…,” but sadly, we all have. We get angry over things that do not matter. We sweat the small stuff. We yell at our kids and our friends and our spouses. People lose their jobs and are forced out of school. Parent’s abandon their kids and children disappoint their parents. Our friends get into that car even though we know they’ve had to much to drink, and yes…sometimes our friends lose control of their car and destroy a family on New Year’s Eve.
It’s been said that we are the sum of all the people we’ve ever known in our lives and maybe that’s why I am still going. Maybe that’s why I’m still writing. Although I cannot remember many things from my childhood, there is still something pushing me to write and to speak and to talk about what I cannot recall. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. Maybe I was supposed to die when I was a child. Maybe I was supposed to die when my ex wife held that gun to my head, and maybe I was supposed to swallow all those pills in 2009 while all those voices steadily urged me to kill myself.
I release a book, and with it, I release myself. I release all those feelings that were supposed to have died within my trembling soul all those years ago. I know that this was what I was meant to do in this life. For so many years, I asked myself “What’s this life for?” Now I know. It was to think and to feel and to smile and to laugh and to hurt and to cry and in so many ways, I’ve already loved more than I could possibly love in an entire lifetime, but I’ve also died a thousand deaths.
Each night, just me and my keyboard, the pain bleeds out of my hands as I write. All of those long nights have finally produced something of value. And with no cheers and no fan fair, I present to the world my Rumbling Heart.
So since my date of release is looming, I decided to get together my acknowledgments page and I am trying to think of all the people who have helped me in getting this project off the ground and kept me inspired through its development. Some people are very obvious while others I am still trying to nail down. I am not putting people in it just to appease friends or family. I am looking for those who have offered some sincere insight into what I have been trying to do.
Looking back to the end of October when I just opened up Word and started writing with no real purpose, things have changed a great deal and some people have played a role in the completion of my book. It saddens me to think that there have actually been 2-3 people who have looked down on me not only for writing, but even for going back to school. I kept thinking to myself how awful their lives must be to find nothing better to do that to try and tear someone’s dream down and make them feel as if they will never accomplish anything. Well, I am happy to say to those few people who hated on me…KISS MY ASS.
In less than a month, my dream of putting my work out there for people to read is going to come true, and to be honest, I don’t care if i sell just a measly 10 copies. I will be happy to be read by any and all readers, and if my work can leave even the slightest impact, I will feel as if I have accomplished my goal. It’s not often that people can see a life dream come to fruition, but I am thankful that it will for me. Obviously, any money I make off the project will be welcomed as I am still just a poor college student. I never expected to get rich off of this; all I wanted was to be heard.
Well, as the day draws closer, I am clearing my throat and hoping for the best. That being said, even if the best doesn’t happen, I will never stop writing…I can’t stop writing. My mind will never rest. I have accepted that. It is the reason I cannot sleep. I wake in the middle of the night after maybe an hour’s rest and cannot help but turn on my computer and write until my fingers tingle with pain and fatigue. And the few hours I am able to sleep, the dreams never stop coming. They haunt me and speak to me and the voices carry on like a choir of musing. The inspiration surrounds me from all sides as if i am being pursued by a ghost of ideas as it desperately pleads with me to share it’s ideas with the world.
I will always be that outcast and I will always be different from everyone else, and now I know why. I am who I am and I write what I feel, and the voices in my head will not rest. Ever. My legacy will be intertwined with my creations, and through my work, they and I will live forever.
I watch the breakers as they approach the shore,
Their frothy texture bubbling up
The distance exposes the horizon
My hand in his, and I feel home again.
Exceeding vistas caress my view
We go walking between the trees
The cherry blossoms, aiding my demeanor
Stroll along and smile, beside me, he breathes
The bustling rush and the crowded streets
Remind me of things I’ve grow tired of
While my work keeps me traveling, on the go
I long for serenity, a peaceful scene
Still I find myself missing this place
I’ve moved on to another
Quiet nights, and I watch him sleep
I touch his hand, and thank him for coming