The Trouble with Amazing Friends

Yes, this is truly a first world problem. No, this is not a humble brag. Yes, it sounds absurd. Hear me out, though.

Here’s the thing.

Until I was 12 years old, I went to a school where I was one of maybe three people who read in a class of 60. I’m not exaggerating. I was exposed to a number of worlds and thought a number of things that could not be voiced, even to my closest of friends. This was especially so, because I was a very precocious child. My mum tells me I used to talk to myself in the loo, sort of mutter to myself, and in the bath. I also used to talk to myself while walking to anywhere and just before going to sleep. Oddly enough, if anyone is wondering, my mum did not have me tested. Do you guys think I ought to be?

When i was 10 or 11, I read Anne Frank’s diary and that inspired me to keep a diary. I was still very shy to write my more precocious thoughts, so to speak, for fear of discovery, and when I worked up the courage to write them, it… did not end well. Let’s not speak about that. Anyway, my diary was the place where all those previously mumbled thoughts and imaginings went.

Anyway, due to…reasons, I changed schools when I was 12 and I met people who read, but who hated me. For the most part anyway. My reading tastes improved because it was altogether a better school, but I still wrote and vented and ranted to a notebook.

This continued through all of my school years, but over the years, I’ve made friends who do think a lot like me and aren’t just playmates. This is especially true after I came to law school.  LAW SCHOOL IS FILLED WITH PEOPLE LIKE ME. People who read, people who think like me, people who enjoy pointless philosophical arguments like me… I have a theory that the entrance test to law school has secret questions to pick up the weirdos and sort of isolate them in law schools all over the country so they don’t corrupt other factions of society in their formative years. Or maybe to train them to channelise their weirdness towards the greater good? I don’t know. Anyway, this theory borrows heavily from Cody Banks, which is a teen movie so let’s just…yeah… moving on.

Note to anyone reading this: digression is going to be a common theme in all my posts. Perhaps the only common theme through all my random ramblings.

I also started dating and all the mumbling and muttering I used to do to myself, I now do to other people. In short, I talk their ears off. I have a reputation as a ‘talker’ and I talk a LOT.

This isn’t a bad thing, and i don’t feel like a nutter anymore, which is also not a bad thing but my absence of self-inflicted isolation has made my writing suffer. I don’t have to think on paper anymore! I just say things. And then i don’t have the energy to write it all out on paper. Which is the sole point of the wall of text above.

I talk a lot in person, I talk a lot on the phone, and when I can’t talk, I brood. I considered vlogging since talking comes to me so easily, but I’m too shy.

The result of all this is that I’m regularly and steadfastly ignoring the one rule that every author agrees is essential: WRITE EVERYDAY. It just doesn’t come to me instinctively, and I don’t have any discipline to make myself do it. Forget my journal. I’ve had this idea for a dystopian novel in my head for nearly a year, just swooshing around, glaring balefully at me, and I haven’t done anything about it! I am afraid to commit to paper (or screen) because it’s too permanent. It’s awful.

Does anyone have any tips on how to get started so that a torrential outpouring of wonderful, precious nonsense is able to flow out of me instead of the well-edited drips of solemn sense that inhabits the pages of my journal currently? This is a call for help.

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