Dead Men Walking

I have seen many a dead man walking.

You've seen them, too. The commonly used term is "coasting." Look up the dictionary definition of "to coast" and you'll find that it means to slide, to ride a wave, to let something else carry you through life towards death. It's a frivolous word for what is really a horrible and tragic thing.

It has always been obvious to me that there really ARE two kinds of people in the world - no, seriously, hear me out on this one: there are people who coast through life, and people who MOVE through life. And the difference is striking, if not always clear. The people who move are happier. They know what they want and they're dedicated to getting it; they're not afraid to love and live and occasionally fight losing battles. They're driven, calm, happy, and you just can't put them down. They won't let you.

And then there are the people who coast. The confused, angry, sad, depressed, downtrodden people who don't know what it is to live. They are the weak, the unhappy, the unmotivated; people who sit upon the crests of a wave and let themselves be deposited on whatever shore it carries them to. They don't have dreams.

Think about that. They don't have dreams.

Why would anyone choose such a thing?

Consider how we are brought into this world. We're safe in our mother's womb, warm and protected and content to drift in sleepy silence forever. Then it HAPPENS, and we're thrust out kicking and screaming and bawling and covered in blood and tissue and hands grabbing us and - augh. Not the most blissful of beginnings, though it's how all human lives begin. If we never came out, never took that first breath of life, we'd never get to experience the things that we do. We wouldn't get to see the sky. We wouldn't know the moon. We wouldn't know the feeling of the sun on our face and the wind in our hair and the rain on our skin. We wouldn't know love, friendship, honesty, courage. We wouldn't see smiles. We wouldn't hear laughter.

So now, after you've come out of the darkness and lived for ten, fifteen, twenty, forty some odd years on this earth as a creature that breathes, walks, smiles, lives - if you could, if such a thing were possible... would you choose to go back?

You probably wouldn't.

Maybe some people would.

If you don't come out, if you go back in... you won't know war. You won't know blood or pain. You'll never see sadness, shock, or anger on a loved one's face. You'll never have the chance to lie. You won't witness the atrocious acts that humans are capable of performing on one another. You won't lose loved ones, because you won't have any. They can never betray you, leave you, hurt you, because they don't exist. You'll be alone in the dark near-silence, protected and insulated from the outside world.

In other words, you'll be safe.

If you don't try, if you don't risk anything, if you stay in the womb, if you coast through life never really bothering to live it... you'll be safe.

Why? Why do we long for safe so much? And more importantly... is it worth it? Is it worth it to never feel love, to never see the night sky in all its glory, to never witness a sunrise and breathe the cold air of morning and think I'm alive?

You be the judge. It's a harder decision than one might think. Living has risks, and sometimes you lose not only the battle, but the entire war. Live, and you will know pain. If there was a contract of life, that would be the first clause. Right now, as you're reading this, you have already signed that contract. You can live with the pain and the freedom of being alive... or you can try to escape back to safety by any means possible.

It's the difference between existing and living. It's your choice.

And I hope, whoever you are, that you never become a dead man walking.

The gypsies in my brain...

This is all HTT's fault.

HTT, for those who might not know, is the theater group that I was formerly a part of. Actually, I still kind of consider myself a part of it, even though I haven't officially been so since I worked the soundboard for their production of Arabian Nights several months ago. I am, however, planning to audition for the next play, so we'll see.

Anyway, thanks to them, gypsies are now a recurring theme in my novel ideas. The love interest of the main character in Dragon Boy (my aforementioned sort of secret novel idea that I'm super excited about - I mentioned it briefly in my last post)? A gypsy. The main characters of the new story I created for my How to Think Sideways course? Wandering performers that would probably be called gypsies were it set in the this world. Clearly, I've got gypsies on the brain. I blame HTT; they were so good that they've infected my mind. Curse you, curse you all.

In all seriousness, though, come on brain, get a hold of yourself. Of all the things you could be fixated on, suddenly it's "Let's write books about wandering nomads! :D Because that's clearly the easiest subject ever and doesn't require extensive historical research at all!" Really? Really?

He or she who climbs highest risks falling, but sees more of the world than anyone else.

This is me.

My name is writerofbooks. Or Marvel, or Chelsea. Whichever you prefer.

I do what my name suggests. I write books. I have written books since I was eight. None of them have ever been finished, but you get my drift. I'm a novel writer; I don't really know how to write anything else. And I don't know how not to write.

I started this blog because... well, my old one didn't get updated a lot, I've moved on to other projects (whereas that one was focused mainly on just one), and I think my writing, as well as my approach to it, has matured a lot in the past several months. Plus I needed a new name.

Bit of background on me: I'm seventeen. I daydream a lot. I am snarky. I am obsessive-compulsive in a lot of ways. I read a lot. I have recently made myself get back into the rhythm of writing after a much too long hiatus. (This woman has a writing course called How to Think Sideways: Career Survival School for Writers that's gotten me back into the motions again, THANK GOD.)

Basically, I'm a normal person with Issues (who doesn't have some these days?) trying to get through Life (yes, the capitals are necessary). And I am a writer. Of books. I write all kinds of things, though my favorite genre is easily fantasy. I'm between projects right now (this How to Think Sideways course is a tentative step in the right direction, and I'm trying not to mess it up by doing too much at once), but I've got some things in the works: an urban fantasy set in futuristic New York city, a high fantasy quartet that I've decided to set aside for now, a contemporary fantasy, a contemporary novel (NOT fantasy) about an old man and a young boy, a dark fantasy with almost horror-ish undertones, a children's fantasy (if you could call it that - I have a penchant for angst and drama that I'm not quite sure fits into the children's fantasy genre), yet ANOTHER fantasy novel that I'm pretty excited about but which is remaining a secret for now, and a... really weird book about lemurs and a girl and a river and a boy. Because my subconscious is totally a ring-tailed lemur. No, I assure you, you don't want to know.

So, what this blog is going to be about.

Um.

Writing, to begin with. There's a reason it's called Writer of Books. Speaking of books, I might occasionally post my thoughts on things I read here, but I wouldn't count on it being too often. I'm not looking to be a book reviewer (though I am on goodreads, if anyone's interested). Above all, it'll be about writing, and probably a bit about observations I make in my daily life, too. Of these there are many, and few ever make it to paper. I think that should probably be changed. Though these observations will be personal, I'm not going to talk a whole lot about my personal life, otherwise. After all, who wants to hear me ramble about what I had for breakfast this morning and how my sister is sooooo annoying oh my gosh? Not to mention that there's not a whole lot of privacy here in cyberspace.

So. Expect: rambling (about writing, life observations, and the occasional book). Do NOT expect: personal information and useless facts about my everyday life that have no particular meaning whatsoever, and are boring.

Later.

- Marvel/Chelsea