I Love to Write

Writing has become a gigantic part of my life.  I write almost constantly, and when I’m not writing, I’m usually reading.  I’m attempting to write a book right now, a novel, about a derranged hermit who starts questioning society, the nature of the universe, and how to go about his life while he loses all sense of himself, his ego.  The only problem is that I just write it, I don’t divide it up into chapters or anything, it’s more like a continued journal, without times or dates, as the character in this book has completely done away with those ideas.  It’s a very surreal story, I know, and I find I write in it somewhat every day, creating this character, this entity, who for the most part is alone in this world, but at the same time connected to “his” world, nature, his small apartment, and many other details, such as what he eats and at what times of day.

It’s an elaborate attempt to find meaning in a life that has somehow gone off track, to solitude, while he tries to make sense of everything, he is often distracted by how little money he spent this month at the grocery store, or why there are certain rules in the world that he was not consulted on.  He addresses his hate for organized government, society, pop culture, television, fear-based news, media, and other staples in our American culture.  It’s almost a satire of the whole planet and how we’ve lost touch with our roots.

But it will probably take me another six to eight months to fully complete this novel.  I believe I’m somewhere in the vicinity of 65-70 pages on Microsoft Works, so I’m thinking I want to at least double, maybe triple the amount of pages I have in this story.  But it is a first-person journal, not really a narrative, but a reflection of life, seen through the eyes of this person, this being.  I rather like writing it, and I even share some of my own thoughts through this character, although I do not necesarily agree with everything he states in the book.  I think the biggest problem he has is trust–of authority, of himself, of others, and it leads him down a path where he, at times, finds meaning in nature, but eventually resumes his contemplation of the massive size of the universe, or wondering if this life is simply a dream and he’s this other entity, this consciousness, and then ponders what the limitations of this reality are. 

Like I said, I’m not sure exactly how this book will be eventually structured, but so far, it’s just a string of successive paragraphs, filling approximately 70 pages.   I may need to edit some of the early stuff out, because I find some of it was a tad different.  I originally started this book over a year ago, and recently, maybe two months ago, got back into writing it.  So I may have to change the first ten to twenty pages to really exemplify the true nature of this character. 

So my plans are to write this, along with my supposed script for the supermarket in which I work at, although that sort of project doesn’t hold as much meaning as writing a novel or inspirational book does.  I’d like to delve extensively into my subconscious and see what I can pull out, what sort of guidance I can bestow upon this world.  I know I have ideas, and I’ve applied them, so it’s just a matter of explaining them in a coherent way.  I’m quite certain it will take practice, but I’m willing to give this a quantity of my time.

I just want to write a book that people will read.  I want people to take ideas from the books I write and will write and apply them directly to their lives.  I’m doing this to share what I believe is reality and the center of everything.  Ever since my brain tumor and subsequent recovery, I’ve had this sense of oneness, this detachment from my physical body, this sort of observer-like state.  My perspective has changed dramatically and I realize that life is a very short portion of my existence and to know there is some sort of spirit inside of me makes me lose all fear completely.  To know that I am a spiritual being having a physical experience really makes life a breeze. 

But I have this inkling, this suspicion, that life is some sort of dream.  I’ve discussed this in previous posts, and by realizing this, I’ve gotten this intense feeling of relaxation.  I know that sounds like a paradox, but it’s just how it is.  Nothing can really jar me too much.  I’ve looked inside myself for security and peace, rather than searching for it in the external world.  And I want to write extensively about it, because I am in so much joy to be here and be able topotentially touch millions of people (appropriately) with my writings and thoughts.  It’s about making a difference and having everyone wake up.


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