stuck in love.

12 Oct

i just got finished watching a brilliant film called, stuck in love. it was about a family of writers who were all at different stages of their lives and their careers as novelists. and they were stuck in some form of love whether it be unrequited, new, or running away from it. i thought it was beautiful, poignant, heartfelt, and moving. and i liked the fucked up nature that it also portrayed about how love looks sometimes.

i think it capitalized just how much love penetrates our being, how much it inspires us, breaks us, and can help us to live (or live again). if anyone who knows me knows just how much i love love and that is why i love movies like this. i’m all about a good love story despite my own failed attempts at it.

there is a scene in the film where one of the main characters is sitting in the car as rain falls (of course) and she is listening to a song being played for her by a guy who is incredibly sweet on her. she whispers, “i’m scared” and he acknowledges that. she turns to him with tears in her eyes and says that she doesn’t want to get hurt. he says, “i’m not going to hurt you.” her character had been burned by the bad taste that the love that had gone bad between her father and her mother had left in her mouth. so, for much of her young adult life, she had been running away from possibly the real thing until this one moment in a car, under the rain. absolutely loved this scene.

like i said before, this film is about a family of writers. the dad is an accomplished novelist and his daughter’s book gets published at the beginning of the film as his son is also a talented poet and science fiction writer. at one point in the film, the boy’s father is going through his son’s journal without him knowing (these kids have been keeping journals for most of their lives) and his dad comments to his son that he not only left his journal on his father’s desk to read if he wanted to but because he wasn’t afraid that there wasn’t something in there that couldn’t be read. his father said he was scared of that. he said we write from the experiences of our lives and he felt like his son wasn’t experiencing enough. he wasn’t taking enough chances, he wasn’t getting out there and was playing it too safe. this was another one of my favorite scenes.

i took from the scene above because i love to write. i’ve been writing for as long as i can remember and it’s something that i feel like i can always count on. it’s where i feel like i can trust myself the most, i feel like it’s something i can trust in general. but, lately, it’s been one of the last things i’ve wanted to do until i started to write this blog to help ease the things that i have been going through. when all of this started happening (whatever this is), i found myself paralyzed when it came to writing. i was questioning my ability as a writer even when i only write for myself so i’m really only my best critic. but, i didn’t feel like was good enough to write because i was questioning everything that i was as a person, even a self-proclaimed writer. i didn’t feel like i was producing anything original and there were no new concepts coming to me either. i was just going back and forth editing things that i had already written.

i attempted to write about things that i knew or at least i thought i knew but, what do i really know? and i tried writing about things that i wanted or things that i was going through in an artificial and somewhat fictional way but, it just wasn’t cutting it. because i didn’t know what i wanted, i still don’t. i didn’t feel like i was really getting anything out, if anything i was just piling it in more than i already was.

so, when i saw that scene when the father is talking to his son about writing from his experiences and that that is all that writers do, we write from experience whether it is put into something autobiographical or fantasy. it’s all from a place within. and it made me think back to when i started this blog earlier this week that i was wanting to write from a place within whether people understood it (or me) or had ever experienced the same thing or not. i wanted to write about the truth, i wanted to write about my own truth and that was something i did know about and that wasn’t something that could just be easily taken away from me. and it wasn’t about being good enough to write about it either because it was mine and that was what mattered. what mattered was that i was writing for me, to help me, and to bring myself something.

it wasn’t about being artificial or about trying to scope out just what kind of character i wanted or location would best fit the kind of story i was hoping to produce. it was about writing about what i was going through, about putting my thoughts to paper and seeing it in front of me. you know they say that when you’re able to actually physically look at something, rather than continue to imagine what it may or may not be, you take away the fear. that’s what i’ve been wanting to do. take away some of this fear.

for those of you who do know me and for those who have yet to know me, know that i love writing. writing is a great passion of mine. and with the help of this blog and this film, i hope it can inspire me to really let myself be in this time in my life, no matter how shitty it might feel and take that experience and put it into something. put my pain and what may feel like exasperated hope into words to help begin this healing process.

and also i want this specific time and movies like this to help me still believe in all the things that i used to and that was just how much i used to believe in love. how much i believe in the purity of it, the value of it, and the sanctity in which i esteem it to really be like. no love is perfect (boy, i have learned that one the hard way) and no piece of writing is either. each one is about experience and effort and the truths that we hold ourselves to.

i end this blog by saying that i’m currently staring out of the window to a beautiful fall day. the wind is slightly blowing and the sun is slowing fading as it highlights the richness of the fall’s colors. and i think to myself, this is how novels start…

she was just staring out her window, waiting for her life to start without realizing…it had already begun.

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