titleless

shut up!

For your perusal/criticism/to ignore/ to discard:


I pick up my book, but I can’t remember what page I was on. I can’t even remember what chapter I was at, and the chances of me attempting to figure it out are molecular thin. It’s not because I wasn’t enjoying Lullaby, by Chuck Palahniuk, or even that I’m too lazy to find the page; I just don’t want to have to read through what I’ve already read. Like when you get in the car and realise you forgot the Bob Dylan Live in Australia DVD Stuart, from Human Resources, lent you. You never go back for it. I’ll buy a new book tomorrow, and try not to get drunk before I’ve finished it.
I see what’s on TV. Executive Decision, starring Kurt Russell and Steven Seagal, has just started, which is great. I don’t read books written before I was born; I don’t watch movies I’ve never seen before. You might ask how I’ve ever watched anything, but all I can say is, I wasn’t always like this.
I watch until the character played by Joe Morton – Cappy – gets brutally, mortally wounded. You might remember Joe Morton from Terminator 2: Judgement Day, as Miles Dyson, the guy who destroys the future of the human race, but not before he gets brutally, mortally wounded. Anyway, for some strange reason, it becomes too much for me, watching the fragility of human life unfold before me so glibly. That’s not what we’re supposed to focus on. Tough guys and heroic guys can take that shìt. But I can’t. Anyway, being tough isn’t like it is in the movies. Consequences exist here.
I stopped reading the book sometime around my seventh can. I can’t remember where I stopped reading, nor can I remember pretty much anything from about beer number 5 onwards. So there’d be a lot of retreading of previously worn words, and I do enough of that in real life. I can remember how I felt when I was reading, I can remember how hard I was trying to concentrate on what I was reading, I can almost remember what I would have been thinking, if I hadn’t been reading it. The book, as well written as it was, is just a relic of how I felt that day. I shouldn’t have stopped at chapter 7; I should have made it to the end. At least I finished Fight Club. I enjoyed that.
Three days after I finished Chapter seven, I sobered up. My stomach hurt, my liver hurt, my throat hurt, everything even my testicles hurt, my sinus’s ran, and various parts of my body felt different than should have – frighteningly so. Everything felt strange, like I forgot how to process my senses. Someone had grafted Bambi’s legs in place of my own; my hands shook at a pace kept by my skewed heartbeat. My depression raged. This is a fùcking hangover, folks; forget your thumping head, two aspirin and a fry-up. This is a fùcking hangover.
I’m lucky, of sorts, in that I always manage to forgive myself. The me of that day is never the same person that slipped the cap off a bottle of Powers a couple of days beforehand. I can forgive the me of now. I despise the me of then. Someday I’ll pick the book up again, when I no longer hate that guy, but someone else, someone fresher to hate.

davyjose

There's a couple of spelling/punctuation mistakes there, which you seem to have gone out of your way not to make, but you kinda have anyway.

For me, the first paragraph is a little bit out of sorts, but you certainly seem to have the ability to write. You seem to be trying to express yourself in a unique way, but maybe your trying to hard.

You brought forth the painfullness of what you were trying to say very well, but I'm not sure it would suit a novel very well. Still, you can write, and you seem to have confidence in yourself (from the other piece you wrote before).

Don't give up :)

shut up!

Thank you for your opinion. Everyone can write. I think we just need to learn how, to learn why, and to learn what for. I think we all get a feel for it. People who write, learn quickly how hard it is.

ElCrapula

I found it forced and unnatural.You dont believe what youre saying.
Comes across as trying to be 'cool',envoking Palahniuk and whiskey drinking and so on.I would suggest trying to be yourself,finding your own voice and not copying the style of the authors you admire.
You should keep it simple.Theres far to much unnecessary or inappropiate vocab and clumsy imagery.Felt like wading through water.
"My depression was raging"-have you ever been depressed?Do you think depression rages?Write about what you know.
"My liver hurt"-Can you really feel your liver?You also say "even my testicles hurt"-After drinking?I dont believe it.
Frankly,its boring.I dont know if the narrator is meant to be you or a character but I couldnt give a hoot that he has a hangover and cant remember what page he was on.The whole piece is juvenile.

shut up!

Thank you for your candidness ElCrapula.

You're right about certain aspects. I'm finding it difficult to find my voice. I have been experimenting woth a few different styles. Maybe i need to go back to basics. All I can do is keep trying.

"My depression was raging"-have you ever been depressed?Do you think depression rages?Write about what you know
"My liver hurt"-Can you really feel your liver?You also say "even my testicles hurt"-After drinking?I dont believe it.

I suppose I was trying to evoke the sense that the character was suffering such physical breakdown wear, that he could almost feel each component part suffering. I'm not sure that came across too well.
I do think that depression can at least be very extreme, or acute. Perhaps the word "rage" was a poor choice, but (yes, having suffered from it before), it can become unbearable, to the point where it drowns out all other emotions.
Obviously this message didn't get across, that's still my failing.

But thanks again for your input. It's great to have someone call it out the way they see it. I'll have something else up soon