Hello to all orangutans swinging from trees, cats hiding in laundry baskets, and computer game manuals.
It just kind of occurred to me, as I looked through my word files on the computer, that recently all I’ve been writing is tremendously, tremendously depressing. Since Christmas: a story about Gordon Lightfoot and a sort-of-evil-but-not-really boy who smokes cigars and deals with the living dead, a story about a kid whose parents were murdered by demons, a short story about a psychopathic villain who ends up being murdered and then coming back to life– and not to mention all the SONGS I’ve been writing. George Harrison, my partner in song-playing, knows very well what dark and sad lyrics my songs contain and also that I’m incapable of writing anything happy.
Do I have like a… depressing and disturbing writing problem? Don’t other fourteen year old girl writers write about the adventures of their cats and ridiculous, fluffy narratives concerning dreamy heroes of fantasy? (Well… okay, the latter is true, actually. I’ve spent a few kilobytes writing about the death god from The Kane Chronicles. Maybe.) But anyway– what’s wrong with me that I have to make everything I write dark in some way? Like, today I was in the midst of writing the psychopathic-villain-is-shot-but-comes-back-to-life scene, and I thought JEEZ, HOLY CRAPOLA, is this really what I’m writing about?
Sometimes I wish I just liked Justin Bieber and thought Twilight was awesome. Why? Because then I’d be NORMAL.
I have to go way back to before Christmas to find anything that’s light-hearted. The rest of it is a kid wanting revenge for the terrible demon that murdered his parents before his eyes. I think I’m slowly turning more and more emo. As I was starting this post, I was listening to a sad City and Colour song called The Grand Optimist, (which you’d think might be, I dunno, optimistic) and then I thought that, This is really proving my case that I’m really, really, really depressing.
That’s why I’m listening to ‘Irish tavern music’ on Youtube now. Fiddles! Jigs! Fiddles!
Oh, yes, I can get through eleven minutes of the same riff playing over and over.
Yours not depressing anymore, because I’m listening to Irish tavern music! ~Onceabasementdog.
(P.S: I’m currently making plans for a serial of short stories about a land of Starburst candies, taken from an idea of the blogger Michael. That’s fun. Right? Right? That’s not depressing.)