The truth behind my loneliness

19 Jan 2010 in featured,writing  [print]  

This entry’s been long overdue, so excuse me if it feels a little out of context. I only just finished it.

This blog is clearly a reflection of my lone­liness.  It is an expression of my angst, disap­pointment, frus­tration, and disil­lu­sionment with the world.  If you walk up to me on any given day and asked me how I felt, I’d bullshit you and tell you I feel great.  But dig even a little deeper and you’ll quickly see that am a lonely man.

With all my idealism and my unwill­ingness to bend to the will and ways of the world, it would seem that my lone­liness is an inher­ently lifelong affliction.

It was Luanne’s birthday, and I was one of the few to attend her dinner at Holy Basil.  Always the quiet one at social gath­erings, I planted myself in the corner seat.  Her husband Dmitri sat across from me, with his close friend (a French fellow) seated to his left.  As the night went on, we got around to talking about my writing.  I revealed that I was working on a novel.  Natu­rally, they asked about it.

My novel is a portrait of lone­liness.  In it, I want to explore the nature of lone­liness: is it a self-imposed burden, or is it a product of our envi­ronment and expe­ri­ences?  Is lone­liness some­thing you create from within, or is it some­thing that finds you and follows you?  The problem is that there is no answer.

I explained this to them. Dmitri and the Frenchman asked what type of book it was.  My novel is largely auto­bi­o­graphical, and I said as such.  The Frenchman made some very inter­esting points about how the novel could get a little too self-indulgent.  Of course I had considered this from the beginning, but this reminder would help in my decision on how to shape the voice of my novel.

After a few moments and sidebars later, Dmitri returned to my rhetorical question: does lone­liness come from within or without?.  He said, “It’s self-imposed.  You do it to yourself.  You’re lonely by choice.”  I was curious as to his answer.  “How so?” I inquired.  Dmitri explained.

And oh what an expla­nation it was.  It was one of those moments you expect to have in a therapist’s chair.  Insight­fully, Dmitri said that I hold on to my lone­liness to write.  Because of the auto­bi­o­graphical nature of my novel, because I am prac­ti­cally living the novel, I force myself to be lonely.

I spent the rest of the night in deep thought.  I am always quiet, but the profundity of this obser­vation essen­tially silenced me. I became rapidly absorbed in my own thoughts.  As socially ungraceful as it was, I stared off into noth­ingness, exam­ining my life and my writing.  I could not help it.  I had just heard an insightful and frankly mind­blowing obser­vation.  It was so true.  The simplicity and truth behind my lone­liness had been exposed.  He answered the question to my loneliness.

I realized that in the same way that I became a method actor whenever I lied, whenever I was in the sales mentality, I was a method writer. The fate of my novel’s protag­onist could not be written because his fate was inter­twined with mine. I was living the life I wanted my char­acter to have so that I could write about it. I needed to expe­rience his emotions so that I could write with authen­ticity. I needed to be as lonely as he was.

The ques­tions is, will I leave my state of lone­liness once my novel is complete? Or can my novel ever be complete? Previ­ously, I had written a screenplay with char­acters who weren’t quite based on myself. I was able to finish that screenplay because I could see them move forward in their lives. I simply needed to write what happened in that world. But with my novel, I cannot do the same. I cannot write the story of my char­acter because I do not know how my own life will turn out.

I am not sure if the lone­liness will persist, but one thing is certain: I need to step back in order to work on my novel. Consid­ering the somewhat auto­bi­o­graphical nature of the novel, and consid­ering how close it is to me, it will not be easy. But if I am to indeed create this “portrait of lone­liness” (as I like to call it), I will have to start distancing myself from the protag­onist so that I don’t get in my own way.

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