Writing

I miss those days when inspiration flowed through my veins. I feel like my resources have depleted. At least for now. I have ideas but they are not complete thoughts. I have vague images in my head and they require assembly.

I've been working on my novel for quite some time now. This is the third year. It sounds like a lot but my writing sessions are intermittent so I only have fifteen pages or so. I see vivid characters and backgrounds in my mind but it is by random chance I get to describe them to full satisfaction. It is especially difficult when I'm in a place where I'm not using the language. Luckily I get to write it often though its uses are limited to rather dry legality.

My chief interest when writing fiction is mental illness. Nothing in this world is fully understood but a human being is a fascinating creature. We ourselves often fail to comprehend what is really going on with our own bodies and minds. Humans are the only animals that study motives of their behaviours. And we're the only ones that lie to ourselves. Mental illnesses are therefore a very interesting subject. Visual and auditory hallucinations are my favourites. Mind you, my interest is strictly scholastic; it is not sick fancy with patients who suffer from these horrible ailments.

And perhaps I'm interested in this area because I myself often wondered if I were crazy. We are all mad to some degree, I believe, but at times I really convinced myself I might not be normal after all. I think I won't be surprised even if I were to receive such diagnosis. I think being ordinary is the most terrible thing in the world. If I'm crazy at least I'm not mundane. (Or is this a very dangerous idea that I'm toying with?)

Anyways.
All the writing I've done in the past four months are either blogging or translations. Blogging makes me excessively introspective. I'm quite inwardly focused as it is.

I write these days to gain some relief. I'm dying to have intelligent discussions (by which I merely mean any kind of conversations that force me to think) and I'm beginning to think they are a rarity here. I'm not saying I'm surrounded by stupid people; they're just too tired to talk about things that require intense thinking. Most people already use too much brain at work and when talking they want to do so casually. I've been feeling pretty underchallenged at work these days so I do need some intellectual stimulation.

More and more I lose confidence in my resolution that I will one day reapply to law school and practice law in Canada. I'm not sure whether this is momentary weakness or cold hard realization.
But I don't want to be ordinary. Giving up would render my existence utterly and painfully ordinary and insignificant. I don't want to be like that.

So I keep feeding myself hope which may or may not pay off. So I write.