I haven’t finished it yet. I’d rather write it well than write it faster. And I’m learning more and more about what matters to me as I write it. Every hitch in the manuscript causes me to pause and reflect on what I want to say. What and whose story am I really trying to tell.
It isn’t so much about the plot anymore. It’s about who these people are. What is it about their characters that determines how they react to what happens in the story. Since I write about trauma, I have to set the right tone. Humorous but with dignity and respect.
I might be writing a romance, but I think my characters are bigger and more human than the romance novel tropes that would box them in. I hope they are more dimensional. There might not be space in the novel to develop secondary characters fully. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, and the finished product won’t be perfect.
But if the reader is interested enough in the characters, if they’re hooked on the story, and emotionally invested, the imperfections won’t matter that much. As long as the characters and their story are authentic, and I tell the right story, it should be fine, I hope. LOL.
I was really arrogant when I was growing up. I used to think I would be a great writer. Now, I just want to be a good one. And finish this novel sometime soon. This year would be nice.
Though I have been distracted with video games, namely Lost Ark… when my head is a mess and it’s too hard to write and my parents are getting on my nerves, that’s my go-to outlet and escape.
Also, we got another dog. A Yorkie-Mini Schnauzer mix. It was my parents’ idea. My aunt found a stray dog under her car and took the dog home instead of taking the dog to the shelter or something. She offered the dog to my parents, who agreed to take him in. I told my mom it’d be too hard to train another dog. I should have held my ground, but he looked cute in the picture and my parents had already committed. I DID NOT ASK FOR ANOTHER DOG.
But I was also kind of sad because my real dog didn’t sleep in my room anymore but in my mom’s room with the other chihuahua. So, my parents wanted to give the dog to me. Which was really a poor decision because I don’t know how to train a dog. They always complain about how I can’t take care of my pets. We didn’t even know if the dogs would get along.
When they brought the dog home and I saw how active he was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take care of him properly. First, it is tiring and stressful. Second, I don’t have the patience and time to train a dog, and it is tiring and stressful. Third, DO THEY EVEN KNOW ME? DO THEY SEE ME? Shouldn’t they know that I can’t take care of a dog?
I told my psychiatrist, how could they expect me to take care of and train a new dog who is very active and runs all around the garden and digs up stuff in the garden, which pisses off my parents tremendously, when I can barely take care of myself? I AM DISABLED FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
OMG, I was so pissed and frustrated and stressed out. I was also very resentful of my parents for forcing me to take the dog. Sometimes, I get so stressed and feel so helpless and powerless and depressed I can’t stop crying. And sometimes my anxiety is so bad I can’t relax for days. It’s like forcing someone to have a kid they don’t want and don’t have the skills and will to take care of.
But the dog was so pitiful and wants to be loved because he was living on the fucking streets. He was skinny and malnourished and even had worms. That’s right. TAPEWORMS. Sigh. It’s too funny sometimes. I mean, of all the weirdest things that could happen to me.
I just want to know WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY PARENTS. They probably mean well. They think a dog will be good for me. But what I really want is to not be chronically in pain. And sometimes, I can’t wait until this is all over. Finish my book and write and publish a few more and leave something behind before I go.
And that’s pretty much it. Say what I need to say about what I have learned about and wish for in life. When I need a break, I play video games. You know, I thought I was going to be lonely when I quit WoW. But man, I’m so busy with writing and all the little but huge dramas at home.
I’ll be fifty in a couple of years. I can’t imagine living another 30 years like this. The pain will most likely get worse, my eyesight has gotten worse in the past five years too. Maybe things will change after I get published. Who knows how big my book will be.
But I have a mental illness, and I don’t trust my judgment sometimes. And that’s why I try harder to get it right, no matter how long it takes.
BEING KATINKA 