The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Another Passage of Familiar Despair... written @ 6:11PM on July 02, 2002 I miss my books so much. I just want to cry. I'm stuck doing characterization passages in a big journal book I bought from Borders for the rest of the summer. Sometimes I write new beginnings for future novels in the series to give me a little bit more hope, to remind me there is a future for my books. But I miss the old ones so much. Sometimes it's almost daunting that I have to go back and rewrite all seven complete novels in the series so far, and then rewrite all the other complimentary books. Going to Borders makes me sadder. All sorts of writers have such wonderful stories out there and a thousand of other interesting tales to tell. I realized something not too long ago: the adventures in my books are my personal cry to get out of suburbia. All 100+ characters in the books reflect a different part of my personality or what I wish to be. There's Erika, who tried to be noble and sacrificed everything, including her life, for the people she loved. There's Prince Shandeh, who represents the darkly ambitious, materialistic side of me. Queen Mothy, who represents me a couple of months ago when I was going through some personal hell and despaired over the most trite of things. Goth, my smartass, politically correct ego. King X-abby, who represents the male version of me. His brother Lord Universe, who always seems to crack a joke and puts on a happy face, even though he wants to hang himself more than anything-- me at work. Julia, who ultimately achieved what she wanted in life. Elizabeth, the one who takes the harder way out. Noah, who cannot believe all the shit that happens to him. Kitty, who often feels like the black sheep of the family. Lord Marcus, who only wants to do his job. Lady Helen, who has trouble revealing what she truly feels. Zenyth, who must fess up to his past, admit his guilt, and move on. Nuada, who comes to realize she can't do everything. And Penelope Fly, who is the one who most closely embodies my most powerful traits. It's like I've grown up with these characters, like they've been standing over my shoulder and coaching me through life. Sometimes I stop in the middle of my day and ask myself, "What would X-abby do in this situation? How would he tell this person to go to hell in the most diplomatic fashion?" Their own lives are a warped version of my own. They are like friends. I know what they keep in their pockets. Sometimes you want to shake them by the shoulders and ask them what the hell they were thinking, sometimes you want to cry with them, laugh at them, warn them not to speak to that man they think is their friend. My books are a collection of adventures about two countries banished to a parallel world engulfed in a war and how it affects their lives, if you want the driest description I can offer. When I first started writing them, I favored one side over the other. Now I can hardly distinguish between them because I know them so well. I miss them. Accidentally pressing the delete button that fateful night was like accidentally pulling the plug on your grandmother who was recovering from cancer. I feel like I've banished them to the farthest recesses of my memory and must now brave the cruel world to get them back again. *sigh* I think I need to go out.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
Latest Entry | Archives | Diaryland |
Profile | Diaryrings | |
Guestbook | E-mail Me | Leave a note |
Art Work (Coming Soon) | Genealogy (Coming Soon) | The-Last-Unicorn.net |