How You Like Me Now

I just finished reading Stephen King’s book “On Writing” and it kept me pretty enthralled for the two weeks I paced myself through it, during work breaks or quiet time at home. I’ve since ordered Anne Lamont’s book “Bird by Bird” (also about writing) and I’m eagerly looking forward to reading an ingesting and or assimilating some pertinent information/techniques. One might say I am being serious for once and trying to learn some techniques.

Stephen King’s overall tone and vibe is relatable enough for me to feel comfortable with his style, despite the fact we are a full generation and a couple decades apart. I feel like I’ve unconsciously adapted a similar style over the years, especially in regard to the process of writing itself. Also, I grew up reading his books and writers tend to write how/who they are reading.

I’ve actually started to think about getting a BA in English, since the idea of writing papers for a few years sounds appealing to the extreme.

Maybe the time of being serious has begun. It’s true that I was a huge proponent of being an English major for a semester here and there, as I picked up just enough English grammar and etiquette rules to write in a (somewhat) cohesive manner. I just lack a lot of correct punctuation and tend to ramble on with lots of unnecessary words, paragraphs, pages. Plus, I own the coveted-by -no-one badge of honor of having such terrible handwriting that an English professor banned me from turning in handwritten notes. In front of the entire class, she announced that I wrote like a 3rd grade boy and it was the worst she had ever seen in her entire life. Fortunately I was delighted, as I preferred typing out my notes anyway and didn’t even care that everyone was staring at me during her surprise announcement, some of them even smirking behind their perfect handwriting and neat letters. She also kept two papers of mine as examples of HOW to write papers for future students, so what if I still write in messy, printed all caps like a psycho?

(Please note that a psychiatrist informed me the recently that I am clearly not on any spectrum of psychopathy, but his writing is worse than mine- so take that as you may.)

One thing that Stephen King shined a spotlight on was telling the truth. Clearly a no-brainer where writing is concerned but it can be complicated. If we are lying to ourselves, we are lying to our readers. It stands out in your themes, your prose, your ideas-whatever. If you are not being honest with your writing, your actual feelings, situations, viewpoint, scenarios- you are shooting yourself in the foot, not doing your job as a writer and people can tell you are full of shit.

Here is where I say I have lied for years.

For almost 10 years I skimmed and distorted my own truth to such an extent that I stopped finding joy in the written word. If I was dealing with “safe” situations I could dip into some true feelings, but they were often moderated and heavily edited, because I thought that would help me come across as not that out of character to anyone who read. I revised situations, would be vague with people and places because I had to seem calm, level and completely in control in order for people to accept me, right? Isn’t that the way the world works? The days of not giving a fuck were over.

Once or twice, I would get the urge to be honest about feelings that I was dealing with and would slap it all out there on the internet, but the repercussions were swift, and the trouble was real.

What the hell happened to me? Many, many things in between 2014-2020. There was the suffocating panic of being temporarily trapped in a lifestyle whilst immigrating, and the brutalist landscape of being caught up in a life altering, personality changing relationship that would completely rearrange the fabric of who I was as a person. I started losing many, many people who were precious to me, while I did whatever I could to stay afloat in this absolute desolate sea of misery and gaslighting, amid the desperation of trying to stay busy until I could legally hold a job in Canada.

Just a side note here: If you decide to leave the country? Some people will pretend you no longer exist, or act like you moved to Mars to start a new religious farming colony. In my case it would be a hockey worshipping, maple syrup colony that priced everything out in loonies and toonies and/or Tim Hortons cards.

If you look back at my old blogs you can see it. I went from lighthearted, honest vignettes about losing weight with keto, and all those Evi-isms to lots of self-reflection and massively edited issues until I just completed stopped, sputtered out and ran out of the will to be myself. Which is incredibly sad.

It would take years, a job, a death, and shared covid lockdown miseries to be free of those influences until I could slowly, ever so cautiously start to come back to myself. Much like shopping at a thrift store and finding old, worn comfortable swatches of fabric that pull old memories forward ( my love for 70’s oranges will never die), these past couple years I’ve finally started to feel a secure sense of peace and nostalgia.

I even started avidly reading again, which is probably why I came across Stephen King validating the fuck out of my feelings and telling me to own my truth. Here we had a famous, world renown author telling me that I could even be more bold, more up front with my avant-garde perspective of reality. Obviously, I was hearing him only because I was ready to take in such bold suggestions and simulate such notions into my own writing. Thank you Stephen. I loved that book, and it’s on my shelf next to my MLA “Elements of Style” writing guide to use as tools of the trade.

Does this path to self-realization lead to me putting people on full blast here for their shenanigans? Not really*. What it means is that whatever I write about is truth. Maybe its MY perspective of truth, but its at the very least, it’s what I know. If I have to lie or pretend like I know- it’s not worth the writing. Some days are bad, some days are good, some days are not rife with a bleak, existential existence. Some days have lots of loud music. You will get the real me, not what I think you want to hear.

At the very least, my online ramblings might be more entertaining with a complete lack of filter. Just nothing about my current job that could get me fired, even though most psyche patients are good copy. ** As far as my living situation goes, everyone can relax- Old Man Mitts and his below standard IQ grandson was and will continue to be, written as unedited truth in all its flatulent, opinionated glory.

We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams. -Arthur O’Shaughnessy and/or Willy Wonka



*Depends on what you did? (insert shrug emoji here).
** They would probably agree with me here that they are entertaining, at best. The GAD would just keep pacing and tell me its fine.