A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Eric Koeppel
origin story
Years ago when I first conceived of creating this brief and terrible monument to the person I am online at the tender and stupid age of 16, I decided to organize it by three sections: some random musing followed by whatever notable of what I’ve been reading concluding with an update on an art project. This format has not quite survived as the last few posts show, but in some ways I do think the reasoning is sound. That is the focus of this thing and, somewhat worryingly, the focus of my life, but perhaps I needn’t structure it so strictly? After all, this is my trash document. I feel deeply embarrassed looking at the early entries, as I’m sure anyone who has reread their own diary does, but then again: I don’t write creative nonfiction. This is a fucking blog.
There’s fanfiction I wrote at the age of fifteen that continue to hold up surprisingly well for what they were. It’s sort of nice to see my progress, even if that progress is largely in the form of immature and unrealistic yaoi smut (lmao). Even though I was bad, I can see my past self starting to learn how to do things. I hope that looking back at my current writing (again, not this), I can see the start of wherever I’m hopefully going, too. And I hope I’ll have learned more then.
Poetry is a little more complicated to track, though I kept my records of pubs. This is mostly because I struggled to create a satisfactory pseudonym. And other related neuroses related to writing for prestige. Fanfic is self published, meaning that whenever I finished a piece I simply posted it, whereas publishing poetry has a much more time intensive submitting process. There are hundreds of poems I’ve never once submitted to journals. At this point, under the pen name I’m committing to (hopefully), I’ve only got two poems out right now.
There’s also the fact that I am quite a lot worse at writing poetry than I am at writing prose. Don’t ask me how I know this. But it’s definitely true.
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A list of everything I’ve read since August until now, in order:
Shadowheart, Laura Kinsale
The Ruin of a Rake, Cat Sebastian
She Whom I Love, Tess Bowery
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction, Caroline Linden1
What a Gentleman Wants, Caroline Linden
What a Rogue Desires, Caroline Linden
Four Reincarnations, Max Ritvo
Equal Rites, Terry Pratchett
Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett2
Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
A Knight in Shining Armor, Jude Deveraux3
The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamín Labatut4
The Wee Free Men, Terry Pratchett
The Friend Zone Experiment, Zen Cho
默读 / Silent Reading by Priest5
In terms of what I’d like to read next, I’m not sure. Might be a webnovel, might be something else, but I’m in the mood for something very heavy and dark. Another Laura Kinsale book, maybe? Captive Prince reread? My preference really is melodrama. There’s a quote from MXTX’s postscript on Heaven Official’s Blessing as well as a section from Meatbun’s author notes from Case Files Compendium that I think about constantly when I get this sort of craving for something really emotionally out there.
MXTX, in the TGCF afterword:
At first, the foundation I set for TGCF is ‘warmth.’ I wanted this story to be a bit soft, a bit sexy, a bit healing, a bit simple. So, at the beginning, the outline was putting all the efforts into going in the direction of fresh, newstyle traditional village life (?). Everyday, they’d grow some vegetables, drink some tea, maybe beat up some little monsters or demons who are causing trouble, assist the elderly Jun Wu cross the street, or something similar (???). To this end, I drank a ton of chicken soup to brainwash myself, hoping to nourish a pair of compassionate eyes to see the world.
But, reality is proof, right now I still prefer the heavier and more colourful worldly desires and emotions, that desperate love and hate. Every time I’m writing a character, I always secretly anticipate when they would suddenly explode in madness. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU TO DEATH ! ! ! ! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU GO DIE! ! ! LET ME DIE! ! ! ! LET ME DIE AAAAHHHHHH! ! ! SAVE ME! SAVE ME! SAVE ME! SAVE ME! (...)
Meatbun, in a BAB author’s note:
I like writing clinically insane madmen, formidable cold beauties, scoundrel perverts, argumentative couples, long works about relationship plotlines where it’s a you hit me and I beat you situation. So I will continue writing this type, and I’m willing to write for readers who like this kind. It’s fine if there aren’t many who like it, at least I’ll be happy when I write, and can amuse myself.
I honestly find these words deeply inspirational, more so considering that both of these authors have found extremely enthusiastic fans, including ones that are oceans and a language away like I am. I’ll hate webnovels once the sun burns out.
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what to do when you don’t feel like writing:
Write a list of what to do in hopes of being inspired into… doing something
Question what your life would look like if you excised the identity of ‘reader’ and ‘writer’ from your conception of self
Read something?
Play music
Go outside and smell the weed or whatever
Learn something new
Apply for jobs
If number 2 felt really disturbing and like you didn’t know who you even are… consider following through on the thought experiment. And then learn that you would be fine
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asking the real questions
Whenever I open up a new google doc for this, I always have to ask myself… Is this project a waste of my time?
What is the point of me fucking around here, instead of working on my poetry or my stories? Even fanfiction would be more productive. So these recollections, these accountings, this verbal ledger of my mind, my neuroses, & my failings — what does it come to?
Does it make me any better?
Ultimately, I think I would be fine without this in my life, and should probably consider diverting my efforts from a place that sucks up more of my time than it should for what it is. I would rather be trying to string together a novel, but at the same time, I think that I do sometimes really just want a bit of a break from trying so hard. So nothing changes. I’ll pull this out when I want to feel like I’m working with words but also want to avoid that feeling of slow obliteration by whatever it is I’m trying and failing to work on.
I don’t want to become someone who talks about writing all the time. A purely literary life sounds like pure hell. To quote a poem I think about constantly, What is it that I want? What is it that I am trying to get, here alone?
I want to write poems and novels. I want to be clever and useful in a field that will give me enough to survive. I want my style to be clear and pretty in all things. I want to say what I mean, to say what I didn’t even know I did mean. I want to clarify my intentions and actions. I do miss the Substack from two years ago when Notes and such didn’t exist. A pair of self-imposed rules: I’m deleting the app off my phone, and this is going to be the last update I post here before December.
The best of the Caroline Linden novels, I found it to be a very charming take on reputation and second chances.
Of the Pratchett books, I had to stop reading the Witches sequence (did not finish Lords and Ladies) because Magrat pissed me off so badly. I would like to finish the Night Watch books soon so I can re-experience Night Watch itself. In terms of Pratchett recommendations… Night Watch and Monstrous Regiment are undoubtedly the best ones, though I’m willing to be convinced otherwise if someone can find me that one really cunty Granny Weatherwax book (can’t remember the title, though an evil twin might have been involved).
A Knight in Shining Armor is not a great book, but it was a book that surprised me with the extent to which our heroine is not a strong and independent woman. The whole point of her is that she’s a sweet schoolteacher, likes to cook and provide, short and pretty, gets in trouble pretty much constantly. I see that this is entirely deliberate, and even though I couldn’t relate to her at all, I found her personal journey pretty touching? I also respect this book for committing to historical accuracy in ways that make the hero (who is a sort of 20th century transmigrator) look like a massive asshole. The plot was so insane and honestly I would not say this book has aged well though I did finish it. My favorite line: “If you’ll come back,” she whispered, “I’ll make you an American lunch: fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs and a chocolate cake. While I’m cooking, you can . . .” She thought. “You can look at plastic wrap and aluminum foil and Tupperware—if they have it in England. Please, please, please return, Nicholas.” LMAO. Bro’s hobbies in the modern era are truly so advanced. You can’t get shit like this anywhere else.
Labatut’s When We Cease to Understand the World was a good book that I wouldn’t mind recommending, but I also think it’s overhyped. It did not drive me crazy with ecstasy, but that might say more about me than the quality of this one, which I found well-researched and well-executed, with a structure that I found interesting and somehow reminded me of the 5+1 conceit…
Priest’s Silent Reading was very good. It takes a lot of inspiration from classic literature (Nabokov, Dostoevsky, etc.), and approaches a level of psychological depth that I think is really impressive. It’s an elegant and beautiful novel with extremely compelling characters (Luo Wenzhou!) that I would definitely recommend, and I’ll definitely want to try out more Priest books in the future having now read two of her novels and liking both of them.