The writing life is a supreme waste of time

I have some story, I am not holding on to it, it’s gotten hold of me and is not letting go. I am so happy. Happy? Well, no, I am rather... relieved...? It’s saving my life in many ways. It can be quite a filler. I wish I could write a script or a play, because then I would get to spend time with people when the writing is over. But a novel is again the best medium. The story will take the form of a novel with pictures, more like diagrams, like a google map of people and their interactions in some emotional space. And it will be written in English. I have written so many, many years in English. I have been a writer for a very long time. Maybe writing fiction is all I can do with my life, not that I have any special talent. It’s never been easy to write for me. My first language is that of the body (dancing, etc...). All other languages are quite foreign to me. I don’t mean it to sound sexy, it’s actually quite pathetic. Because I don’t get the opportunity to express myself in my mother tongue all that often LOL... and because I wish I was gifted with Eloquence. I am a slow writer, and with most people I am pretty close-mouthed. My spoken words seem to emerge from some odd place and I am surprised that people pay any attention. I love that attention though. The attention of just one person, a special one. But sometimes, I can reach that place where it’s like somebody else talking.

Will I go through with it, this time? I’ve been so fucking lazy.

Last year, I had started to write something. Except I did not even have a story then. Not even a skeleton of a story. I had written this to a friend, and not long after that... I stopped writing (well, of course!) :

J'écris un roman. Ça suffit, le niaisage ! Quand j'écris pas, je niaise. Et j'ai assez niaisé ces dernières années que j'étais en train de devenir stupide. Il n’y a pas d'entreprise plus exigeante que d'écrire un roman. Mon cerveau passe à une autre vitesse, tout mon cerveau au complet travaille. Puis il n’y a RIEN de plus important pour moi que LE Roman quand je l’écris. J'ai un débit naturel d'environ 2000 mots par jour. C’est PEU et tout le reste de ma vie tourne autour de ça LOL... Et puis quand je sors, je me fais l’effet d’être une crack head. :-)

Je suis en 1991 maintenant. Et je me rappelle de tout. Tout me revient. Par morceaux, bien sûr! Mais des morceaux entiers. La chose la plus hallucinante que je possède c'est ma faculté de me souvenir.

If I write about some event though, my fresh perespective on it will be lost for ever. And I am unable to write for a long time about some totally imaginary thing. I don’t have that much imagination anyway. It feels like I will destroy something precious. I so much don’t WANT that. I don’t want people — REAL people — and events — REAL events — to be mashed and devoured and digested and excremented by the Ugly Literary monster machine. That is death. Actual death seems almost sweeter.