i started thinking about who, exactly, i'm writing for. the perfect, "correct" answer would be myself. i write because i need to and i want to. i don't care who my audience is, what they think, how they react, or what they would like more or less of. i write to exorcise my own demons, and to manifest my own emotions into wellsprings of wordsplendor.
while this is true some of the time, it's not true all of the time. there are callings for both sorts of explorations, and i think that since i've just started to think a little bit more about these different facets as real functions, it starts to add a little bit more mechanic to the magic of the medium that i love most.
i've had more than a fair share of ideas for fiction that i thought i would start to unwind for my own love of the concept, and my own emotional output. the vision that i would have for a project would begin to collaborate with the ideas that i'd been inspired by and the collective surrounding environmental elements (background music, room noise, setting) to make a real product out of the raw skeletons that i were starting to collect muscle and skin in the brain. the more that i would get out the initial ideas, the more i would start to draw upon my peers and heroes for inspiration. what would THIS person do, or how would ANOTHER person write this? what would make SO AND SO love this?
and it becomes hard to retain that creative vacuum once you've gone that far.
i haven't written in a while, and it's certainly not because of a lack of ideas or emotions. there are plenty of both running completely rampant right behind the membranes of my fingers. my problem, at this point, is the idea that maybe no one would care. i think that's a very wrong outlook to have on any hobby, but especially one that tends to have such a relieving effect as a creative outlet.
i recently went through my old livejournal account and deleted much of what i read that i felt shouldn't exist. it was an odd thought process. i wasn't embarrassed of it or anything. well, i think i was. but i also just did to it what i think i want to do to anything that i read and don't approve of. approve may be too harsh a term. but looking back on those entries, i feel that there was this enormous imaginary audience that i felt i might have been speaking to. that concept sort of disgusted me. i'd start off entries by saying, "hey folks," and would apologize for "not writing as much" as if anyone noticed.
it's not something that i'm about. make the music you want to make, and the people who should find out about your music will. that's kind of the overall mindset i try to keep on all things. the whole "be yourself" ideal. if you try hard to impress someone by being something you're not and you succeed, you can either fail in the long run or become someone that you're not. there is no success here. if you live what you want to live, the others that live the way that you live (and therefore should be your peers, friends, associates, etc.) should become attracted to you. this goes for writing as well, and really, everything.
i feel like that whole concept is applied even in the distribution of this blog as a whole. livejournal and the myspace blog system just seem to become too watered down, and even when they aren't watered down, it almost becomes interpreted that you're trying to bring out a reaction or a response.
i've been having a hard time with that whole thought process for a little while. i thought maybe if i'd confront it by giving it a body of words it might be a little easier to tackle and eventually overcome.
i posted the poster for THERE WILL BE BLOOD back when i first saw the movie at the farmingdale theater during a matinee showing with about 7-10 other people, all at least twice my age. to me, that's always how this movie will feel perfectly viewed, and i've described it the same way every time:
if i saw it in a packed theater with someone else, that might be how i'd feel it needed to be seen as well, but i'll never be sure.
i've since watched this movie twice. at first, i wasn't exactly sure what i'd taken from it aside from the fact that daniel day lewis crafted a masterpiece of the soul in daniel plainview. but after seeing it a third time overall, i know what it is.
it's the morals.
no new revolution.
the tweet i'd posted was meant to be about him:
i can get a sense of it, but can't quite define it at the moment.