Computer Games, Gaming, Non-Fiction, Personal, Writing|

This probably won’t be the last time I post about not being able to sleep. It is, and has been since I was young, a reoccurring theme for me.

Tomorrow I fly back to Missouri. I will be performing a wedding on Monday, and spending time with friends/family throughout the rest of the week. I will be doing some remote work, and will be visiting with people that I did work with once-upon-a-time.

I’m pretty excited, overall.

An ex-girlfriend of mine and I were talking before I took this job. She asked me if I was sure that I wanted to move away from everyone I knew. She herself has done so a number of times, and found the experiences rewarding. She encouraged me to do so, while also worrying that I would not be able to handle the loneliness. Being alone in a new place without any kind of a support system can trigger introvert tendencies in anyone, and I am already a shut in by nature.

So her concern was valid. And since I’ve been here, I have only left my apartment to shop and go to work. Which she predicted would happen.

I’m afraid you’re going to get there, and lock yourself away from the world, and hate it because you’re so lonely. I’m afraid you’ll hate it because of that

So last night I was in a writing mood, and I wrote something about a game I played for two hours a year ago, that had a pretty decent impact on me. That reminded me of a game I got her around the same time for her birthday: Dear Esther. So I reached out to her and asked if she ever finished it, and if so, would she recommend it?

She said something akin to, “It was creepy. If you’re depressed, it won’t help.”

I almost replied with a quip about how well I was doing, because I’d really been feeling pretty decent. Or so I thought. But I didn’t want to sound defensive, so I said something else that I don’t really remember. And then I got to thinking about whether or not that was a pointed jab, or if it was just an observation.

Sometimes there are people who inherently understand how I feel, even if I don’t. I guess they might notice patterns in my behavior that I don’t pay attention to. Excessive writing, or the urge to write, might be an example of when I’m not feeling 100% myself. Which is probably an accurate statement. A year or so ago, I was writing about how I was sad that I didn’t have the kind of passion that I used to for writing. Back when I was barely getting any sleep and having problems with a girl I was seeing. I wrote like a fiend, and I loved it.

When I finally got over her, the well seemed to dry up, for the most part. Short stories stopped, I wasn’t able to concentrate on doing my writing because I wanted to be active with my friends and family. I felt pretty good, except for the not writing part. But I’m no professional, so what does that, really, matter to me when I am otherwise doing well.

I met RA Salvatore in person last year, and it was a great experience. I’ve written about that here, but something he said that night, (and has reiterated numerous times in various formats since then) really resonated with me.

Most authors tell you to write what you know. Others tell you to write what you don’t know, so you have to learn about it. I suggest you write about what you know, but don’t know you know.

He went on to explain that when he writes, the stories his characters participate in are figuring out how he feels about various situations. A great example of this is the book Mortalis. He wrote the book after his brother died, and it is a very grief-filled and grim novel, with a hopeful and understanding ending. He puts his characters in intense situations so that he can learn what’s inside himself.

I guess that could be some Marty Stu type writing.

But I like the idea behind it, and I’ve taken to doing that with these blog posts. Long and winded they might be to some people, I’ve come to rely on the insights that I’ve gleaned from them when I’m done. And to be fair, they’ve been a joy to write. I really miss writing, and when I get into the swing of it, no matter the topic, I tend to feel a bit better. Maybe not lifted out of the fugue state that I’ve found myself in, but it keeps the walls from being grey and oppressing.

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