Last night I reached new heights. An epiphany. Acceptance.
I don't think I'll ever derive the satisfaction, the pleasure, the purpose of my life working in media. I always thought high; thought once I got a foot in, I could change the system. But the mass media doesn't want my morals, my ethics, the sobriety delivered in truth. Entertainment wants me to dream; a mentality I would have to fake. Ultimately, a behavior I would never succeed at. Sure there are directors whose films epitomize the theories and lifestyle I want to deliver in literature. And these are individuals I respect, admire, applaud. But unfortunately (because it can't be better known), they have done something I am trying to do. They have chosen not to be popular. They have chosen not to come easy. They have chosen not to accessible.
I was cornered into fiction probably out of an insecurity with not being an intellectual. Motivating me was my commitment to, once again, change the standards: what one expected and thought they could handle. Ultimately, I knew fiction reached the masses, the youth, the generations in development and I thought I could use the genre to manipulate one into sitting down with fiction only to discover psychoanalytical philosophy was entertaining, engaging, illuminating - fooling them into, not the imagination, but truth. This will forever be my intention - an aim I know, now, won't be a phase because last night I realized this mind body duality has been a lifestyle, my obsession, my commitment since I was a child.
In the midst of friends over, I found myself on my bed with my mouth hung open over this article. At some time I will talk about things I experienced as a child, that ultimately effected my self and shaped my life. From this, I know the first piece of literature I want to be remembered for; a piece my life has already been devoted to. It will be a split piece - two halves - and there will not be anything fictitious about it.
When I was asked to stay after class on Tuesday night, I was faced with a situation that is increasingly becoming more difficult to shake off. My professor, whose presence I have been in only twice, basically insinuated I was either on drugs, have lost my mind or am bipolar. He did not understand my shifting pronoun was intentional, that it was a mind body exploitation and a reference to myself as a child and as an adult, now looking backward. He proceeded to question whether I had any experience with reading fiction. And I proceeded to feel most uncomfortable and left after feeling obligated to apologize multiple times. I would have felt entirely okay had I been apologizing for just not spending time on the work and not reading the fiction, which all had been the cases. I had been up for 24 hours after a flight and a week long vacation - opaqueness was the result; why did my mental health had to be called into question - why inability to write fiction? And why, just because I am a writer, was I expected to be able to write about anything, all the time? Perhaps, the creative writer can.
My focus has been on post-modernity - a consciousness that certainly confuses the self, but these things were part of development, part of the process of finding clarity and making meanings Perhaps it was my fault for ever thinking creative writing/fiction professors would understand my philosophical slant. If I was trying to expose the psychoanalytic effect of the anorexic: seeing her actual self and wanting her ideal self, believing her mind (ego) could be severed from her body (superego) - than, in the fiction realm today one didn't understand why I just didn't write about not eating certain food or looking at how ugly my body is. But those things weren't what was important, and they aren't what the disorder is about. They avoid what the anorexic is always hungering for.
Perhaps to them I was always stepping into the wrong class. My other professors - outside of fiction - appreciated me, whereas the former thought I was all messed up. Again I was told that I was unwanted by the mass media, as if it were something I didn't already know and/or accept. Because of this, I have been feeling this overwhelming pressure to have an imagination, to invent tales and to disregard my thoughts. In entertainment internships, I see repetitively that the workplace has no handling on creative or even conscious control. I'd like to think producers are being critical when reality shows are edited for audiences, but they never voice an argument and therefore, the importance of the issue goes missing and people remain underdeveloped. They fail to be a substantial self freed of images and ideals. Small talk and kissing ass would be me failing as the person I have always been in mind. I
f my life aim is to reveal the core of individuals, to let ourselves be vulnerable, open and candid, to keep the youth from wasting time on complexes like I have then my career must step away from mass media to focus on one's relationship with the self. If I can't be heard in novels, than I want to be heard face to face. If I can't filter in confession, than I am devoted to helping the other confess. If I can't save lives with the written word, than I have every intention to do so with the spoken. Psychoanalysis. The merging of literature and self. Ultimately, the individual is the creative composite. The character I want to develop. The way I can impact others without compromising my self-belief.
I don't think I'll ever derive the satisfaction, the pleasure, the purpose of my life working in media. I always thought high; thought once I got a foot in, I could change the system. But the mass media doesn't want my morals, my ethics, the sobriety delivered in truth. Entertainment wants me to dream; a mentality I would have to fake. Ultimately, a behavior I would never succeed at. Sure there are directors whose films epitomize the theories and lifestyle I want to deliver in literature. And these are individuals I respect, admire, applaud. But unfortunately (because it can't be better known), they have done something I am trying to do. They have chosen not to be popular. They have chosen not to come easy. They have chosen not to accessible.
I was cornered into fiction probably out of an insecurity with not being an intellectual. Motivating me was my commitment to, once again, change the standards: what one expected and thought they could handle. Ultimately, I knew fiction reached the masses, the youth, the generations in development and I thought I could use the genre to manipulate one into sitting down with fiction only to discover psychoanalytical philosophy was entertaining, engaging, illuminating - fooling them into, not the imagination, but truth. This will forever be my intention - an aim I know, now, won't be a phase because last night I realized this mind body duality has been a lifestyle, my obsession, my commitment since I was a child.
In the midst of friends over, I found myself on my bed with my mouth hung open over this article. At some time I will talk about things I experienced as a child, that ultimately effected my self and shaped my life. From this, I know the first piece of literature I want to be remembered for; a piece my life has already been devoted to. It will be a split piece - two halves - and there will not be anything fictitious about it.
When I was asked to stay after class on Tuesday night, I was faced with a situation that is increasingly becoming more difficult to shake off. My professor, whose presence I have been in only twice, basically insinuated I was either on drugs, have lost my mind or am bipolar. He did not understand my shifting pronoun was intentional, that it was a mind body exploitation and a reference to myself as a child and as an adult, now looking backward. He proceeded to question whether I had any experience with reading fiction. And I proceeded to feel most uncomfortable and left after feeling obligated to apologize multiple times. I would have felt entirely okay had I been apologizing for just not spending time on the work and not reading the fiction, which all had been the cases. I had been up for 24 hours after a flight and a week long vacation - opaqueness was the result; why did my mental health had to be called into question - why inability to write fiction? And why, just because I am a writer, was I expected to be able to write about anything, all the time? Perhaps, the creative writer can.
My focus has been on post-modernity - a consciousness that certainly confuses the self, but these things were part of development, part of the process of finding clarity and making meanings Perhaps it was my fault for ever thinking creative writing/fiction professors would understand my philosophical slant. If I was trying to expose the psychoanalytic effect of the anorexic: seeing her actual self and wanting her ideal self, believing her mind (ego) could be severed from her body (superego) - than, in the fiction realm today one didn't understand why I just didn't write about not eating certain food or looking at how ugly my body is. But those things weren't what was important, and they aren't what the disorder is about. They avoid what the anorexic is always hungering for.
Perhaps to them I was always stepping into the wrong class. My other professors - outside of fiction - appreciated me, whereas the former thought I was all messed up. Again I was told that I was unwanted by the mass media, as if it were something I didn't already know and/or accept. Because of this, I have been feeling this overwhelming pressure to have an imagination, to invent tales and to disregard my thoughts. In entertainment internships, I see repetitively that the workplace has no handling on creative or even conscious control. I'd like to think producers are being critical when reality shows are edited for audiences, but they never voice an argument and therefore, the importance of the issue goes missing and people remain underdeveloped. They fail to be a substantial self freed of images and ideals. Small talk and kissing ass would be me failing as the person I have always been in mind. I
f my life aim is to reveal the core of individuals, to let ourselves be vulnerable, open and candid, to keep the youth from wasting time on complexes like I have then my career must step away from mass media to focus on one's relationship with the self. If I can't be heard in novels, than I want to be heard face to face. If I can't filter in confession, than I am devoted to helping the other confess. If I can't save lives with the written word, than I have every intention to do so with the spoken. Psychoanalysis. The merging of literature and self. Ultimately, the individual is the creative composite. The character I want to develop. The way I can impact others without compromising my self-belief.
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