For the past ten years I have published stories on wordpress, and have contemplated releasing additional content for subscribers, such as story readings, behind the writing exclusives, in-depth character profiles and analysis, via vlog. The only problem is. I HATE WATCHING MYSELF. I hate having my photo taken unless I’m in disguise, and I HATE the sound of my own voice. It sounds very different when I’m writing. I’m able to become the characters, and disappear from my body for a while.
Vlogging, however is a quagmire of horrors, which I’m not sure I want to inflict on myself or any readers interested in Unbound Boxes Limping Gods.
My cat, Henry, disagrees with me and has been very supportive during a difficult time in my life. As you can see, he says, meeeeow, and prruuuuuurrrrp and that I should probably start meewrecording more footage before he destraooows my camera!
Would you like to learn more about Unbound Boxes Limping Gods? Do you think every vlog should feature me in a different disguise? I would love to hear your thoughts.
I have three big fears. The first is too awful to write about, the second is burning to death in a house fire (but I suppose at least I would be dead) and the third is being made redundant. Anyone who knows me, will realise that catastrophizing is a skill I have honed into a super power, exploding anxiety bombs inside me continuously, driving me to do my best work, or be my ‘best self’ in the hope that I can somehow prevent inevitable (or perceived) horrors from catching up with me months, even years before they actually do (or don’t). Unfortunately my third biggest fear has come true, and I am now facing redundancy during the pandemic, and those anxiety bombs have escalated into overwhelming mushroom clouds.
Don’t misunderstand me. I am not going to curl up in the fallout. I’ve done this twice before. I take my iodine pills and get up. Please wish me luck for the future. I need it. Three redundancies in 13 years may be due to some sort of curse, but it sure does justify the catastrophizing. I like that word, but I could do without the curse.
It shouldn’t be difficult to guess that as a writer, I much prefer living in fiction. The real world has a rather caustic aftertaste, people die, they desert you, there’s disappointment and loads of other words beginning with ‘d’ which build up, until there really is no other option than to retreat into fantasy. Of course this is just one reality. It didn’t start this way. I’ve just been going through a bad patch. It’ll get better etc.. The truth is, I use my writing to escape from having to deal with complex things in my own life, which I can’t really talk about here. It’s good for the stories, but for the past five years, I’ve been reclusive. Instead of trying to fix my situation, I’ve been skilfully avoiding having to deal with it. *Clicks fingers,* this is your cue, Katherine.
Katherine De Somme and Alexand Merek
If only I had my very own Katherine De Somme! In my head, at least, she is the earthy and practical solution to Alexand’s airy turbulence. I’ve only ever experienced this sort of love through watching other people. According to a lot of exes I’m remote, and distant (oh another ‘d’) and couldn’t therefore function in a ‘proper’ relationship, be it with a man or a woman. Cats seem to like me though. In fact I’m surrounded by them as I type this, as well as many fictional characters. Maybe I need an Alexand in my life instead? I don’t think Katherine could put up with my nonsense. I need someone who can drag me back into reality, wake me from this perpetual flickering in and out of fiction. Or is this just a dream within a dream? I feel depressed. Too many ‘d’s.