Fighting The Fatigue

I'm sure you've been there.  Felt it and endured it.  I think we all have.

You're writing -- or creating any other type of art -- and things are going splendidly.  You're at the point where even thinking about your creation makes you excited.  Everything's awesome and there's a bright place that you can see in the distance.  It looked far away once before, but not so much anymore.  That incredible thing, Completion, is so very very close.

And then it isn't.

That's when it settles in.  Takes hold of your body and thoughts.  Ask anyone and they'll tell you that it really is a physical thing.  It's nearly a personified force that you can gauge and measure: The Fatigue.

It cements itself in your bones and you can feel it weighing down every step you take.  Just the thought of getting through the day, let alone investing time to paint a new picture or write another story, is shudder-inducing.  When you finally do get some time to yourself, even sleeping seems like an effort.  Lounging around, watching television (usually bad television), and generally wasting time tends to have a higher likelihood of occurring.  Before you know it, weeks or months have passed and that once luminous Completion is a forgotten, dusty thing tossed sadly into a corner.

So how does one, you know, fight The Fatigue?

First of all, understanding that it's not such an ominous, horrible force of nature is a giant step in the right direction.  Creating any type of art is usually an enormously involved task.  Artists put their entire body and soul into their work, so is getting completely exhausted that unnatural?  Not really.  It's just a sign that you're really working and thinking very deeply.  One gets achy and drained from intense exercise... and, I'm guessing if you ask any prolific published author, they will tell you that writing is most definitely a rigorous form of exercise.  So don't beat yourself up over feeling tired.  After all, it's symbolic of a good workout.

Second, let yourself rest a bit.  Watch some TV.  Go hang out with some friends or take a loved one out to for a walk or dinner.  The world's still spinning out there, and isn't it that very world that gave you your inspiration to begin with?

Sometimes that isn't enough, though.  When I was writing my last script, The Fatigue hit me harder than it ever had before in my life.  I could probably list a million reasons why, but I won't go into that here.  One thing that helped me get back on track, along with the much-needed encouragement of my cousin, was that I did something very simple and natural:

I got angry.

Anger can cause one to do some pretty stupid things, but that's what it does: it makes one... DO.  It causes people to fly into action.  And, if utilized and harnessed correctly, it can make you do some wonderful things as well.  So that's what I did.  I raged.  I was pissed that I had neglected my story for so long, made so many excuses.  I literally fought The Fatigue tooth and nail.

And guess what I found out?  Turns out The Fatigue isn't so tough after all.  It's just another thing that becomes trampled and forgotten.  An enemy that seemed so scary, but, almost disappointingly, wasn't.  "All that agony over that?"  You'll be amazed and happy how wonderful it feels to get back to work.

So if you ever feel that way like I did, try some anger on for size.  It's a start, right?  And sometimes that's all that we need.

Inspiration

Fearlessness.  Fearlessness inspires me.

Or, the ability to feel fear and to forge ahead anyway.

That would be my answer to the question of what inspires me as a writer.

Of course there are a multitude of authors and screenwriters that I look up to in regards to their talent.  J.D. Salinger, Philip K. Dick, Alice Sebold, Dennis Lehane, Neil Gaiman, Shane Black, Haruki Murakami, John Kennedy Toole, Lisa Carey, Ryu Murakami, David Brin, Ray Bradbury... the list is close to endless, but those who conquer fear top it.

... Like the teacher who faces a class of a few dozen, disinterested, hormonal students, and refuses to give up on them.

... Like the comedian who, alone on stage and under hot lights, presses on to find a connection between an audience of several dozen, or several thousand vastly unique people.

... Like the astronaut who travels into the harsh, vast reaches or space, or the student who risks everything to study in a country that holds a culture incredibly different to his/her own.

You know.  The brave ones.

Recently I came across this interview with Sasha Grey.  It's a pretty long clip to watch, close to an hour I think, but I couldn't tear myself away from it.  She was very articulate and candid about her career, to the point of being almost poetic at times.  Here is a person who set out a career plan for herself, and went after it intelligently and with the focus and drive of a homing missile.

Not to mention I was also amused by her thoughts on recent SpongeBob commercials in regards to sex-based advertising.  

In any case, I think this kind of fearlessness and relentless determination to follow through with her goals is essential for all artists.  In a world where people usually have no hesitation to be ruthlessly critical of others' projects, performances, and aspirations, one absolutely has to be gutsy to want to become an artist.  I think that's almost as important as loving what you do.

You love creating art?  Okay.  But are you ready for anyone and everyone under the sun to judge it, and to perhaps openly hate you for it?  It sounds dramatic, sure, but think of all the times you've talked about a movie and the other person says something like, "Oh god, I'm not seeing that.  I hate [insert actor/actress here]."

Have this person ever actually met the artist?  Usually not.  Yet he/she has no qualms with talking openly making assumptions about the person based entirely on a single performance, or sometimes even just celebrity gossip.  I admit I've been guilty of this too.

Now, I haven't seen any of Sasha Grey's movies, including Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience, but I can only imagine some of the venom some people may hurl at her due to her career as an adult film star.  Yet, she doesn't give the appearance of being the slightest bit perturbed by the prospect of this, nor does she clam up or become embarrassed when people ask her about her experiences in the adult film industry.  Think of any time you've been on stage, or had to give a presentation in front of strangers, or read your writing aloud to the class.  It can be scary, even when you don't have a career that some people may openly oppose.  Pretty daunting, eh?

Yet she doesn't seem daunted in the slightest.  And that, if I may say so, inspires me.

Louie

I've seen him countless times since I arrived in Boston, but one time in particular sticks out in my memory.

It was during a date last summer.  It was a sunny weekend, and I was walking down Newbury Street with the girl.  We were chatting pleasantly, on our way to the downtown theater when it happened.

"Mooove!  Mooove!  Mooove!"

Similar in beat and repetition to the bleeping noise a construction vehicle makes while in reverse, the warning noise was heading straight toward us.  The crowds began to part.  Tourists craned their necks towards the sound, and locals smiled and nudged their friends.

Flags rising from the rear of his tricycle, feet pumping in their steady and endless rhythm, he appeared, shouting his usual mantra.  When he got within ten feet of us, I waved and greeted him happily with, "Hi Louie!"

He stopped shouting long enough to nod sagely at me before continuing on his way, peddling into the distance.

The girl turned towards me in utter amazement.  She looked at me as if I had just randomly high-fived Hugh Jackman or shook hands with the president.  "You know him!?"

"What?  No, I wish," I replied.

"Well then how the heck did you know his name?  I've seen that guy riding around a billion times."

I shrugged.  "He has Facebook groups and fan clubs based on him.  He's famous."

And he is.  I just saw this neat video based on him.  Check it out to see a Boston legend.  Creds to the awesome filmmakers who put it together:

Short video on Louie

---

It just goes to show that, again, stories are everywhere.  If you're ever feeling stuck, strike up a conversation with that person who catches your eye.  You know who he/she is.  After all, some of the best adventures start out with merely a simple greeting.

Terrorizing Children With The Power Of Reading

I think the best thing J.K. Rowling has done is compel children to read again. Before her famous series was published, I rarely saw a kid under 10 years of age read something consisting of 400+ pages. Nowadays it's almost become a fad to read about that boy with the scar on his forehead, and it's not uncommon for people to react in outrage against someone who hasn't read the books.

[Note: Details about the following story have been changed and altered for privacy reasons so that it won't come back to haunt anyone.]

When I was in elementary school, one year my grade attended a weekly reading class, held in a library and, surely enough, taught by the librarian. Some days the librarian would read to us, other days she would let us select one of the children's books off the shelves and read on our own for twenty minutes. Pretty cool, eh?

Wrong.

I remember one snowy day walking down into that basement library to find the librarian staring at us, eyes bloodshot under hooded lids. The temperature in the room seemed chillier than usual that day, the lights slightly dimmer. The corners of her lips were tilted downward as she watched us silently file into our regular seating arrangements. The entire atmosphere screamed doom. I wouldn't have been surprised if a raven had croaked apocalyptic warnings to us upon entry.

We looked back at her, sensing already that this wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. "Okay," she finally began. "Today we're going to be reading a story about a cow."

Someone coughed.

"QUIET!" She roared.

Now remember, this was winter season, and we were kids. Kids are practically germ magnets during this period, constantly sniffling, coughing, and sneezing on each other to point where it basically becomes forgettable background noise. Later on when I was coaching kids who were this age, it seemed like at least 40% of my class was battling some type of minor virus or germ every single week of winter. So when our librarian seemed irked that day to the point of pure fury at each and every little cough, we were flabbergasted.

Even after we tried muffling our coughs into our shirts or sleeves, she had still been driven to the breaking point. Two pages into the story about the cow, she snapped the book shut and said: "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. If you have to cough, cough it all out now and get it over with. Because after I start this story again, if I hear one more cough... that's it. Storytime's over. I'll stop and you'll have to spend the rest of the period in Quiet Time."

No. Not that. Anything but the dreadful Quiet Time. At that age, being forced to sit in complete silence is the equivalent of throwing holy water on that girl in The Exorcist. So, hilariously, we obliged. We all started coughing, hoping that by hacking violently away then, that our germ reserves would be depleted to the point where it would take awhile for them to rekindle enough strength, hopefully waiting until after the story was done.

When we thought we were through, she gritted her teeth, re-opened the book, and pressed on.

I remember very little about the story. It had something to do with a spirited young cow who had somehow escaped her confinement to pursue a series of adventures. The cow traveled around, met unique personalities, and generally just kept on getting into trouble. I think.

The entire time I was fighting that familiar tickle in the back of my throat. I needed so desperately to cough to the point where my ears were ringing. My lungs ached and I had broken out into a cold sweat. I clamped my jaw down, willing myself not to break the silence. I looked over at another classmate and almost burst out laughing: he was trying so hard not to purge his lungs that his face had turned to the color of a grape. Veins popped out on his shiny forehead, and his eyes were bulging with the strain.

When we got to the point where the cow had managed to become trapped in the bottom of a well, someone broke; a muffled cough had managed to escape one student -- a shy, mousy girl in glasses -- who rarely talked. She immediately paled and lowered her head in shame.

"THAT'S IT!" the librarian bellowed. She slammed the book shut and shot us that hooded gaze once again. "Can't say I didn't warn you. We're stopping there."

A few students cried out that this wasn't fair.

This didn't sway the librarian in the slightest. "Not fair? Coughing occasionally is natural, but every few seconds? That's deliberate. It was your choice. Now we'll never know what happened to the cow, will we? How did she get out? Did they fill the well with water and have her float out? Did they pull her out with ropes? Or was she stuck down there forever?" She shrugged. "Guess it'll always be a mystery." At that she put the book away and left us to sulk in Quiet Time.

---

And you know what? I never did find out what happened to that damn cow. All these years later and still no luck. The worst part is I don't know the title of the book, so I can't go look it up and find out. So if anyone reading this knows about that story or at least what it's called, let me know so that tale can finally be put to rest!

I didn't think on the incident too often back then (by then we were used to a few teachers bringing their personal problems to work), but the older I get, the more amazed I am at what happened. Stopping a story because of sick kids? Seriously? Seriously!?

I think it was Stephen King who said (maybe in his book On Writing) that in order to write, one must read. I agree entirely. Read often. Read from a variety of authors. If something in particular grabs your attention, pay attention to how the author pulled you in. Enjoy it.

Even if you are discouraged by a raging librarian having a bad day... read anyway.