myself_i_must_remake

Dear BC (Friday, August 13, 2004): You'll need proof that I am who I say I am, that is, that I am your future self, nearly eight years forward. You need proof that this isn't something Koren did (you'll be calling our mother by her first name after college for reasons you're not ready for) to mess with you, or to upset you into some kind of confession. You'll agree that the best proof will be the things that--as of your present moment--only we know. So: you were bold last night, weren't you? You've been bold lately in general, and others have noticed. They might deride you for it (look up that word; look up all the words you don't know), but the truth is, when you are bold, when you are most yourself, is when they respect you most, regardless of what they might say. From this distance of nearly eight years, I can say that you will regret no moment of boldness (even if the immediate consequences are sometimes painful, they will always be productive), and you will regret and punish yourself for all those days you spend playing it safe and second guessing yourself. Have you met anyone successful who tells you to trust not your first instinct, but instead your second one--fear? As I said: you were bold. You scheduled your party for a Thursday night--a strange choice. Why not for the weekend? Well: the Perseid meteor shower peaked last night, didn't it? It's not peaking tonight or tomorrow night. At North Chagrin Wildlife Reserve you had seen the sign advertising some stargazing event, and you organized a party because--who knows?--maybe you and Paul would somehow end up outside together, alone. And that is what happened, isn't it? You were playing Soul Calibur II and a hand tapped your shoulder, only yours, and soon enough you were laying side-by-side on the trampoline (weren't your arms touching?) talking about--well, you remember. The meteors were great, and the fireflies too. You'll tell him what you never thought you would soon enough. I know what happens, and in your mind, you think the obvious thing for me to do is to tell you how things wind up: is he gay? does he love you? Trust me when I say it's best you don't know, and trust me when I say the best thing you can do is to tell him. Remember: you will never regret having been bold. More generally speaking, things have been different lately, haven't they? You have more friends, you feel better about yourself on a day-to-day basis. It's hard for you, at this point, to see why that's happening, but I can tell you: you've finally started forming your own identity instead of imitating others. You could continue to do that and be very happy, or you could falter, and question yourself, and regret it terribly. You were dealt a different hand than anyone else you've met; what's more: you might not even be playing the same game. When you play cards with your friends, do you stand any chance if you play 7-card stud by the rules of rummy? Imitation is not the answer. I do not have to tell you your talents; focus on those, not those of others. Lastly, and even more generally, a metaphor to understand the coming years by: do you remember the beginning of Kingdom Hearts? At the beginning of the game, you get the opportunity to answer questions from Tidus, Selphie, and Wakka. The way you answer the questions determines how you level up: your journey might start at dawn and begin easily and end with greater difficulty; or your journey might begin at midday and remain steadily moderate throughout; or your journey might start in the dead of night and begin with extreme difficulty and end with ease. In the long run, you know, the latter is the best, even if it means you have to work really hard at first, it pays off eventually. You would do well to remember that. Pet Cody for having brought this to you; he isn't a smart dog, but he's a good dog. In fact, he's probably a good dog because he isn't a smart dog. -BC (Wednesday, May 23, 2012)

seeing as though one of the phd programs i'm applying to will be in austin, i'll be needing to know what jsmith is i'm versatile, btw, though leaning top lately, which is very odd for me. when i was 21 i just wanted to bottom everyone and his brother, and now i'm totally chasing tail everywhere.

Happy Birthday, Paul! That offer still stands for you to buy me a video game.

this is all spoken from the position of someone who has been unable to solve a similar problem... but i do notice that socially, the people who need something too badly of course do not get it, because need is socially unattractive (for some reasons that make sense and others that are horrible). the ridiculous thing people would tell you is that you'll find what you're looking for when you stop looking, and yet those people end up correct for reasons that we puzzle-everything-to-death types will never understand. in other words: try not to try?

i wonder: when we recognize each other masking, is it more polite to point it out to the person (privately, obviously publickly it would be callous), or to respect it and play along? i remember a professor a while ago talking about how women in the restoration period of england would go out with masks to conceal their identities and be someone's mistress. but anyone who's seen someone with a mask on knows it doesn't really do much to hide anything. still, it was good decorum to pretend that you didn't recognize the person. weird, eh? and maybe more pertinent than it seems.

reminds me of my attitude toward gay marriage: yay, another way for pretty people to have better lives.

can't tell if i actually like it... or if it's just really stuck in my head.

it's about time someone focus grouped us.

Neither. What I look for in a story is what it can give me that other media can't: a certain relationship with language. Television took over plot, and character too often for me relies on stereotyping or certain assumptions about retaining attributes over time. The more I read, the more character and plot for me have become excuses for language. I can point to one of the first times I felt this way. I read James Joyce's "The Dead" after coming home late one night from a little affair I had sophomore year. Here's the final paragraph of the story: Obviously I wouldn't deny the importance of plot or character, but for me both are an excuse for language, and both rely on language in ways we sometimes miss because we think of it as a transparent medium instead of a material (sonic, spatial) thing in itself.

Personally I don't understand how people like Cia keep up with everyone. As a professional complainer, I get a lot of help from people on this site, and it just amazes me that they are able to reach out to so many of us.

We're reading an autobiography in one of my classes where something like this happens, and it seems like in autobiography--of all genres--it should be impossible, but yet the author speaks for some other characters's emotions and events she couldn't have actually been present for. I brought it up in class as kind of a turn-off, and I'm glad I know a word for it now.

thanks everyone! it's been a pretty good birthday. my roommates decorated the hall outside my room, and gave me cake and wine. considering i wasn't planning on celebrating, i'm pretty pleased!

I've struggled with this a lot over the last few years. Through college I picked up a lot of vocabulary, and I became concerned for those words: if no one uses them, will they die? At first I didn't like the idea that part of the language would atrophy, but over time I've accepted that if a word does not get used, then it must not be useful enough. (There is, however, an element of education here: vocabulary is becoming less and less the object of education before college. Sure, the SAT assesses it, but other than that, the focus is shifting toward research and information retrieval skills.) But what about pleasure? Having several available terms to cover a small field of meanings can afford a certain pleasure. Synaesthetes will tell you that sensory experiences attach themselves to certain letters. In that case, selecting a word means not only approximating a meaning, but also importing sensual cues. When I write a particularly affective scene, I listen to songs that represent that feeling for me with that hope that the music will guide me toward more sensually accurate word choices. (Weird, eh?) Having a field of terms to select from--even if some might drive the reader to the dictionary--is a privilege. I have several points of disagreement or at least clarification here. Part of the joy of reading is, according to some, being in the hands of a master story-teller; hence, the tie between author and authority. To tell the truth, I do want to read an author who seems smarter than me, or who has something to offer that I do not have. I completely sympathize with the sentiment here: no one wants to read an author who's flexing his vocabulary for show, but let's not assume that all uses of non-"common" language necessarily have that as an aim. Lastly, there are certain characters who are fun to read or write because of their overblown diction. (For examples: Nabokov's Humbert Humbert and Faulkner's Rosa Coldfield.) I like this understanding best. When an author places a slightly erudite term amongst otherwise everyday vocabulary because that term is the most specific, the effect for the reader is really exciting. I just read a Gwendolyn Brooks novel, Maud Martha, where her vocabulary is mostly simplistic, but occasionally she lets fall a perfect, specific word, and the effect is stunning. I can agree to simple being best, but only if simple means most exact. Simplifying would be dangerous.

I want to say I can't believe someone would say that, but my generation seems to be the must repulsive yet (I'm assuming he was around my age). The least he could have done was have a conversation with you. I wish there weren't so much hostility between gays. How does the people expect to "find love" if it's always a game of oneupsmanship? Half the profiles I read on dating sites say something disparaging other gays, and more often than not it seems to have to do with the speaker's own insecurities. I know how that stuff can ruin your day though. Sorry man.

our best dog was a shepherd. small breeds be damned.

I had this very thought about my ex. When I was dating him, he was still highly attractive, but I saw pictures of him when he was like nineteen and twenty, and it was out of control. Not only was he beautiful, but beautiful in a way I had never seen before, like... I didn't know a human could look like that, and I think it had an undue effect on me. If I had met him back when he looked like that, I could see myself having gone crazy over him. I'd post pictures if it weren't creepy. I know in my mind, I'll always imagine him like that and when I'm writing stories, I see myself imagining him often as a character.

“anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did . . .” --e. e. cummings “This is no place to sleep.” Something nudged my ribs. I assumed it was a foot. I was regaining consciousness, trying to move my body or say something, but sti

I agree with sat8997, and I would discourage the flowery dialogue tags. I know many people think they should switch up their diction so the reader doesn't get tired of the same word over and over, but says and said are the exceptions. When it comes to dialogue, readers glance over says and said the same way they do punctuation, and that's a good thing: it allows the dialogue to speak for itself. Flowery dialogue tags distract from the dialogue itself, suggest that the dialogue is weak, or make it read like a cheap romance novel. Some authors object (similar to their objection to the easy-on-the-adverbs rule) that they just can't possibly trust the reader to imagine their scene correctly without the dialogue tag, but my response to that is that 1) they need to trust their readers more and 2) it might suggest their dialogue is weak. If the author sticks to says and said, the alternative tags have more value (just like an earned, appropriate adverb) when they do appear.

Thank you for taking time to read carefully the begins of what seems like a cryptic story. Things will make more sense soon (but only after they make less sense), and that specific line will get an explanation. In a sense, it is what the entire story (29 chapters), will be based around.

I am not alone, I am sure, when I say I have blown up moments into years and squeezed years into moments. My few moments with Other Michael, for example, I have replayed over and over in mind so much that, over the course of my life, I have likely dedicated at least a month of thought to the events of several hours. Contrariwise, my first year and a half at university exists as a dull gray gap in my memory. Rarely do images from my life at that university bubble up on their own. If I want, I can

From leather couches I have spoken myself to many strangers. What sounds absurd in the abstract used to be common practice before your generation, where medication is standard: over the years I spoke with many psychologists. Never once did I feel that they helped me. They seemed to operate under the assumption that one reveals more in speech than writing. This may be true for some, but not all, not me. Of course, none of that stopped Mother from suggesting that I undergo counseling.

I had “come out” in 2006. (Does your generation still use this phrase? Does it mean anything anymore to “come out”?) It was an accident. My prom date, Emily, hosted a house party while her parents were away. The more popular kids with connections were able to bring alcohol. I drank too much on an empty stomach, having spent all day working out at the dojo I attended. Before the night was out, I sat sobbing on the bathroom tile with another girl, Abby, telling her I was a homosexual, telling her

Elderliness was wisdom until Science showed otherwise. The words of old men don’t mean what they used to, and for good reason. To be sure, we have seen much, but our tools of interpretation have dulled. Memory and fancy broke down the walls of their pens and mingle freely in our minds, at pasture, as it were. Cognitive ability peaks in the early twenties, claims Science. By thirty, the decline begins and everything soon goes to pot. Story-telling is the real culprit, the real killer

12.4.2011 - ?

It's weird for me because writing to me is such a solitary activity. I offer it to be read not really expecting anyone to enjoy it, just basically because reactions are interesting to me and it's probably the best way of getting to know me. I don't really write with a team then because, for me, I'm not trying to impress anyone anyway. Reader enjoyment is at the bottom of my list of reasons to write. I usually write in need of purging something, and then when it's finally out, I can show everyone: this is why I act this way. This is what I'm dealing with. Most of the corrections people make to my writing are the very things I'm trying to display. It's fascinating to me, then, how everyone here sees it as a straight-forward, community effort. I'd probably like it more if I were that way. (I also might have a better chance of it ever being successful.)