On Independence and Self-Discovery

"Are you happy, or are you pretending to be happy?"

We watched this movie a few days ago -- Swallow. It's about a young, pregnant housewife named Hunter (Haley Bennett) who's struggling with certain feelings. This is a life she once thought she wanted, and that would make her happy, but -- as can often be the case -- the reality isn't quite measuring up to expectations. Her husband doesn't take her at all seriously and barely sees her as a person. Hunter especially doesn't seem all that thrilled to be pregnant. It's clear she feels like the walls are closing in on her and that something's got to give soon.

One day, Hunter gives in to an odd, sudden urge she has to swallow a marble. For reasons she can't quite understand, the act makes her feel empowered, possibly for the first time in her life. She eventually swallows other objects, some of them quite dangerous. Before she knows it, she has a full-fledged habit on her hands, her husband and in-laws find out, and strife ensues. From there, the film becomes about Hunter's struggle to feel like an important player in her own life and chronicles her attempts to get there. The film was really very good and gives you lots to think about.

Much about Hunter's situation reminds me of how it felt to be married to my first husband, Greg. I was very young at the time -- much younger than Greg -- and I didn't have the luxury of being a housewife (although that is something I thought I wanted.) I definitely didn't develop the urge to swallow marbles and thumbtacks. However, Hunter's feelings of inadequacy were very familiar to me. Like Hunter, I was surrounded by people who considered my feelings and needs to be unimportant compared to everyone else's. I disagreed. 

Scattered Friday Thoughts on Writing in Stages

Officially speaking, I keep saying I'm not sure whether I'm indeed doing NaNoWriMo this year or not, yet all my actions tell me my heart's already set on it. Earlier in the week, I came up with a working title and designed a book cover on my phone while working out on my stationary bike. A Medium draft I've been picking at in bits and pieces over the past couple of days is about NaNoWriMo as a possible tool for writers. Earlier today, I was on NaNo's forums chatting up other writers before I temporarily left the office to go cook dinner for my family. 

Anything could happen between now and then to change my mind again, but I'd say I'm about 90 percent sure at this point that I'll do it. It's been so long since I did any creative writing that I'm curious as to whether I still know how. Plus, I smell possible post fodder to dip into here and there throughout November. I'm interested in seeing how I handle the event as an older, significantly more organized writer, as well. 

........

I've been noticing something interesting about my writing these days. I used to think I flew completely by the seat of my pants when it comes to deciding what to write about. However, my ideas actually go through very organized stages of evolution. They start out as thoughts on life or snippets from daily conversations that likely make it unfiltered into my private journal at some point. Most stay there because the bulk of my everyday thoughts wouldn't be of interest to anyone but me. Some eventually graduate to at least a mention in this blog or somewhere else on social media. 

On Flashbacks and Flashes Forward

I've been trying to get my shit together a little more regarding this blog lately. The craziness attached to that last Medium article that went viral over the summer is over now, but people are still finding their way here out of interest in me, so I've been sprucing up a few things. For instance, I just spent the better part of an hour reformatting old posts, fixing broken images, and all of that good stuff. Of course, anytime you're going back through any of your old work, it's inevitable that you'll at least skim some of it. That was certainly a weird experience.

I don't know that I do what other writers do and get hung up on how badly my older writing sucks in comparison to my more recent work (although I definitely do see a skill level difference.) I'm more stunned by how different my thinking is. I'm in a completely different mindset sitting here in my office writing this today than I was in most of my early posts. 

I've struggled so much in life, especially mentally and emotionally. I always did my best to put on a good face in front of others -- fake it 'til you make it, and all that -- but life, in general, always seemed so pointless and unnecessarily hard. It was heartbreaking to see Younger Shannon starting projects she was so hopeful about and quickly giving up -- all the fruitless little fits and starts. I can see in that version of me someone who desperately wants her life to matter and feel worth living but has no idea what such a life would look like or how to get there. The shadow of the person I'd eventually become is there, but barely. 

To be completely honest, I'm not really sure how I managed to get myself from there to here. When I read those older posts, I see someone who wants to die and is already well on her way to doing exactly that. I suppose I eventually sank deep enough that I was finally ready to do the shadow work. I'm not sorry those dark years in my life happened, as I wouldn't be able to write the things I'm writing now without them to reflect on, but it's hard to go back and witness them as they're happening. It's hard to read the proof of how hopeless and suffocating they were.