Note to Self (232) Eyes

One single glance and I understand you. Our brains connected, we can finally hold hands and face life without fear. I don’t doubt anymore. Only feel. 

Your voice soothes me. Your thoughts lead me where I always wanted to go. The darkness is long gone when I stare into your eyes, for all I see is peace and understanding. No judgment. No questions. As you touch my hand, I absorb your warmth and drift away. There’s no reason to be afraid. I know you’ll take care of me – the right way. You laugh and I laugh too. You smile and I watch you. Never thought I could become a stalker. You made me one today. 

I see beauty in you. Imperfections too. You manage to keep me focused, without trying too hard. It’s what you say that keeps me afloat. When all is so unpredictable, your voice reminds me to stay in the moment. 

I come with my baggage but it’s no burden to you. You accept it as experience, wisdom and learning. Your life is full of skeletons you’ve embraced long ago. You’ve accepted who you are. You and I enjoy being weird. Never will we try to be different. No mold can keep us in a straight line. You know how to live the right way though. 

When we kiss I forget all about the crippling pain. You took it away with your magic. Only one look from your eyes, and the pain morphed into bliss. Pick me up from the ground and hold me in your arms. Show me love.  

In your eyes I see the truth. You make me whole. You steal my breath only to give it back bigger. 

In your eyes I see the world. I see your soul.

I see myself. 

Note to Self (230) Les Miserables

Oh boy, I haven’t cried watching a movie in so long. This was truly the most amazing piece of art I’ve seen in quite a long time. I grew up reading and studying the work of Victor Hugo – truly the most amazing author who will remain at the top of my list forever – and I forged my writing according to his style. To me, he is the master and I’m only the apprentice. The words of love, dedication, passion, raw life painted under his brush with so much finess and detail, resonate strong within me.

There’s nothing more I’d love to convey in my own art. So much to learn, so much to admire, I’m in awe. Watching the movie brought me back to the time of my youth, when I was only speaking and writing in French. The country where I was born has now become a distant memory, tainted with awful politics and a lot of other stuff that pisses me off beyond belief. But when I think of my childhood, and history lessons, how people fought and died for freedom, I feel joy. Nothing can be taken for granted. The way my country of origin has turned into cannot replace the proud I built reading the work of brilliant authors and poets who made this country the gem it truly is. Under the dirt, the hate, the lost values and wasted time, my country is beautiful.

I learned to love again through my love of words. I hope from the bottom of my heart the work of Victor Hugo will never be forgotten, because it’s pure heaven.

Thank you for this gift.

 

Note to Self (219) Writerly Wednesdays – A thought on #plagiarism, the creative process and #inspiration

51F0gnKYGkL._AA160_I started a new book yesterday, after spending quite a lovely evening with my pals, and frankly, it was a blast. The evening didn’t end on a bitter note when I downloaded on my Kindle this great novel – Blood Zero Sky by J. Gabriel Gates. I found this book completely by accident, as the author started following me on Twitter. Interested by his profile, I checked out his website, and a few seconds later, bought his novel. The first two chapters really rocked my world. I can’t wait to read more.

His story is not something that has never been written before. A futuristic world, where the government has become a ruthless dictatorship, and people fear for their livelihood by overworking themselves and turning into slaves, is a topic that has been done, redone, and re-redone. 1984 anyone?? And yes, I know I bitched about John Dies At The End because the author used the time-space continuum as base for his plot – or I should say lack thereof – and I criticized his work because I felt like I was being hammered over the head with a poorly-executed concept I knew all too well. That’s all. Not because he sold thousands of copies and got a movie made after the book.

Where I’m going at, is plagiarism and the use of ideas and concepts that aren’t original. And yes, unless we go back to the dawn of mankind, no idea will ever be truly original. Let’s be honest, everything has been written about. I don’t care if the story involves sci-fi, zombies, vampires, impossible love, homosexuality, bestiality, pornography, pedophilia, cannibalism, serial killers, psycho-lovers, crazy bitches and funky rabbits who talk and do tricks while dying their fur purple, as long as you can pull off a successful tale that’s gonna knock my socks off, I’m with you all the way. And J. Gabriel Gates did that for me.

More examples. Greg Sisco, whom I’m really a fan of, wrote about vampires, and he did a fabulous job too! Who else? Oh right, my good friend Krystal Wade talks about plagiarism on her blog today, check the link here, and she mentions Suzanne Collins and Stephenie Meyer after reading comments of an angry reader who basically bashed Collins’ and Meyer’s works by claiming The Hunger Games and The Host were mere copies of Invasion of The Body Snatchers and Battle Royale.

Alright. Let’s just cut it to the chase. When someone comes up with an idea, and develops that idea into a story, and then someone else redevelops the same idea and creates an even better story, it’s not plagiarism. This, my friends, is called inspiration and creation, which means the creative process is endless, and therefore, accessible to anyone whose brains are not completely fried by too much pot-smoking. Here. If I copy The Hunger Games word for word and put my name at the bottom, this is plagiarism because I didn’t create anything. I used your work and pretended it was mine. You know, just like kids do in school when they turn in a paper and entire sections are from a totally different individual. I’ve been accused of plagiarism many times in my early childhood, because teachers didn’t believe the stuff I wrote was actually mine. And it was. They were just too dumb to realize it.

Battle Royale honestly sucked. I like The Hunger Games much better. Just like I’m gonna dig Interview With A Vampire and I’m gonna puke on the whole Twilight saga. Like I said yesterday, taste is a matter of personal preferences. Just like when you get dressed in the morning and you decide to wear pink floral pattern skinny jeans with neon orange flip flops although it’s like 40 outside, and an off-white knitted sleeveless sweater turned grey because you haven’t washed it since you bought it like one century ago, but hey, who am I you tell you what to do first thing when you wake up and you don’t spend enough time checking your outfit out in the mirror before walking into the outside world? I’m nobody. I’m just another human being, who’s gonna throw you a confused glance on the subway, because honestly, what the fuck were you thinking this morning, yet, unless you are equipped of an apparatus that can actually read my thoughts, our entire encounter will stop here and my thoughts are safe, and you can go on with your day, and I can write about you later on my blog. Unless you dressed up this way because you wanted to copy your favorite singer Rihanna. Well, whatever your intentions were, you helped inspire me.

We, authors, are brainstorming all the time by reading each other’s work and stealing each other’s ideas. That’s the way the gravy train rolls! And yes, some are more successful at it than others. Some sell millions of copies, and others well, don’t. I’m pretty sure that after reading my own work you’re gonna tell me I copied Inception. Duh. Inception inspired me. I didn’t actually copy it. I do a lot of weird stuff in my life, but being a copycat isn’t one of them.

So yeah. Go check out Blood Zero Sky. And all the other books I mentioned above. As a species, we have been gifted with intelligence and we can create stuff that will blow your mind out. Good stuff, bad stuff, we got the freedom to choose! Whoot! How cool is that? So if you don’t like something, toss it aside and pick something else you’ll like better. No one’s forcing you at gunpoint to read stuff you don’t wanna read. The day I get a gun barrel pressed against my delicate temple to read a freaking book that sucks, you’ll hear me rant about it for centuries. Unless of course, I’m dead and I can’t write about it because it’s hard to type when you’re six feet under. But we haven’t come to that. Yet.

Speaking of censorship and freedom of speech, we live in a country where we can read pretty much anything we want, so let’s take advantage of it instead of hating each other. Jealousy doesn’t make you beautiful. Drop the bitter attitude, and shine on to brighter horizons.

Life’s too short to hold resentments against authors you don’t even know personally. Just saying. If they had rammed you in the back of your car while you were stopped at a red light, I’d understand better, but acting all cranky puss just because their work sells and yours doesn’t doesn’t entitle you to the bitching award of the month. Unless you insist, and I’ll draw a special award for you. Because you’re so special, you little rant.

So quit whining and read on!

Note to Self (218) Talented Tuesdays

No snow on the ground. I was ready to wear my purple rainboots until summer came! I barely made it on the subway, and we all know what happens when the doors close on you and squish you like a grilled cheese sandwich. Not the best feeling ever. The ride was smooth though. I’m almost at the end of Death by Chocolate, Vol. 2, which will be re-titled “The Truth Within” as both parts, 1 and 2, will become one.

The newborn should see the light of day fairly soon. I’m staying optimistic as to deadlines. It has been quiet the past few days, but I didn’t stop running. The Mexican dinner yesterday was absolutely delicious, probably because the company was excellent too.

After finishing John Die At The End, I realized stories that become popular aren’t the best pieces of literature ever written. Sad? I don’t know. People’s taste cannot be controlled. My writing probably sucks, haha. In that I’m trying too hard, or I’m being too honest, too raw, too smart, too complex, etc… The list could go on and on and on. That’s alright. “The Truth Within” will be something to keep on the shelves until next winter, and then you can recycle it. I’ll allow it. Art takes so many shapes and forms. Something completely dull might be the most genius idea of all times. The human psyche is so weird when it comes to appreciating art.

Julie Jones wanted to say hi. She’s doing great fighting the monsters of her relentless imagination. I have many hopes she’ll succeed in her journey and become a stronger woman. Who knows, she might come back in another story, and make a cameo appearance. Everything’s possible in this world.

This morning, tourists were taking pictures of billboards for a Broadway musical, and I thought, what’s so memorable about these billboards? But I’m always transported back to the first time I set foot in the Big Apple when I see people take pictures of everything and anything here. This town is truly unique, and mesmerizing. Even when it smells, and is crowded, and secluded from the rest of the universe after a big snow storm or a hurricane. New York City is my home. It inspires me every second of every day. Would I be so prolific if I lived in a little town in the middle of nowhere?

Probably. But my stories wouldn’t be as crazy. Or maybe they would be crazier. The people I encounter here make my imagination go wild though. It’s a permanent spectacle of awe and pure disgust everywhere I go. When people open up and talk about their lives, my heart always skips a beat. This town is the receptacle of all kinds, all origins, all backgrounds. When I think I’ve seen it all, I’m constantly reminded I haven’t seen anything yet.

New York. The lover I hate so much and can’t get enough of. Julie maybe lives in California, but deep down, she’s a true New Yorker too.

Note to Self (205) Looking Through

I am writing about this girl who seeks a way out of her own insanity by escaping into this evil parallel universe after eating a psychedelic chocolate… Volume 1 was quite easy to put together, but Volume 2 feels like a drag. Ugh, I just want to focus on something else right now and my mind is not on it at all. It seems easier to write about Kiki who’s going through a difficult recovery than to keep going with Death by Chocolate. I guess I’m hitting a wall – writer’s block that is.

I have no problem writing though. I’m missing inspiration. That story isn’t dear to me anymore. I’ve grown, moved on, and all I want to work on is my other story which is much more complex than this one – The Manicheans.

Alright, difficult day for writing. I’ll leave it at that. We all have one of these days. Tomorrow should be better hopefully.

Note to Self (196) Break In

Sorry for being away. I had to take some serious time off. Find myself again. Look inside my soul and see the light that had been shining there all along. I had lost track of who I was. I wanted to carry so much, I didn’t realize the weight I had put on my shoulders was too much for me to hold. I broke down. Thought the worst. There was no exit, no love left, no redemption possible. I wanted to leave this world with everything I had created behind, my colors, my rainbow, my beautiful magic and my words… All would have disappeared because I felt alone and helpless.

I’m not alone. I’m loved. Life is difficult but is worth it. Why didn’t I realize it earlier? I’m just too overwhelmed with everything.

The loss of a marriage. The loss of a friendship. The loss of a shield I thought I had against everyone, and now I stand naked before all. But I can’t be ashamed of what I’ve become. I’ve learned to be the dragonfly of my dreams, the reborn creature that looks in the mirror and accepts her failures, her mistakes, and all the bad memories. If I was given the possibility to change anything in my life, I’d choose to change nothing. I take the good and the bad, and stare forward. The past shaped me, but didn’t make me forever. I have time to adjust, and to adapt. Some people will feel the change because the change is needed. No more hiding behind a bottle of alcohol. No more believing I can do it all alone. I am proud to say I have a problem, and I need help.

Yes, I had this problem all along. Depression. I’m a writer, a sensitive soul, and therefore prone to feeling down every once in a while. How down is my down? Pretty deep I shall say. Too deep sometimes. A mountain I can’t climb. A peak that laughs at me, and as darkness swallows me whole, grows bigger with every breath I take. There’s really no easy cure. Meds do the trick for a while, until I wake up and listen to the silence of my room, to find loneliness has become my best friend and my worst enemy. I have to stop isolating. I have to stop hanging out with people who drink because they’re too ashamed to admit they have a problem. I have to stop sleeping around. I have to focus on me. Act. Sing. Write. Talk. Talk some more. Talk until I can’t speak anymore, and then walk in the park and cry. Let the river flow, feel the world around me and smile. I know the journey has just begun, but what a journey.

I want to thank all the people who prayed for me, and the ones who worried. I’m still here and promise to work on myself very hard so I can be better.

Lastly, these words are for you: thank you for visiting me, thank you for buying me clothes, thank you for trusting your gut and not giving up on me. You’re a true friend. Not a back stabber. Not a liar. You are the reason why everything finally made sense. Love. Without this love, we are nothing. You were my light every day at six pm. You made this hour the best hour of the entire day.

And to all the ones I met while being secluded from the outside world, I want to say thank you for staying true to yourself. Mona, Liz, Hilda, Veronica, Reneydo: you made my stay worthwhile and I wish you all the very best. Bless you guys.

Note to Self (195) Back to Black

So I admit, I lost it yesterday. I have these moments where all I want is to die. I just can’t take the pressure anymore. I feel like a failure, a real piece of shit. Then I start writing on this blog and texting close friends and everyone keeps telling me to cut the crap. Yeah. I know. I’m focusing on the negative. Too much shit really. All the fucked up memories come back to life and haunt me. I can’t think of the past. I’m not fucked up. Just a fragile porcelain doll who sometimes needs a break. Getting a break usually means not sleeping and crying all night long, but hey, we all need outlets, right?

I contemplated dying last night. I really did. Ending it all with a bottle of pills. Not waking up the next day. Seeing no point in anything I do. Giving up. Exiting like a coward. I’m still here. Breathing. My cats would miss me too much if I died now. Lol Trying to cheer myself up. I can’t be selfish. Too many people depend on me, and love me. I sometimes forget them because the omnipresent darkness swallows me whole. I feel like a clown who has to put up an act to make people laugh, but inside, I’m crying. I’m sad.

I just want so much. I’m hungry for more. I want to succeed. I want to be free from the day job, and the routine, and the pain. Will I ever be free from the pain though? Without it, I can’t write. These words will really save me.

My heart aches, but I’ll be okay. Another dawn, another day. Black is very trendy anyway so I’m fashionable in my own misery.

My subconscious should slap me for saying stuff like that.