Kerouac and I

When i find an author that i really like, i get every book written by them and indulge myself until i can't turn another page.



When i get older, i don't think I'll regret never having an MTV-isque spring break. No sand for me. No rendezvous with guys name Brad, Chad, or Matty. No drunken escapades, dancing on tables, or club hopping in Cancun.



I'm glad I'm not one of "those" people. Not that's there anything wrong with it, but i would rather spend my spring break lounging, reading, and snapping photos. If i had a car I'd be in it driving around until i was kind of lost. That's my idea of a good time.



I was at the book store the other day looking for My Sweet Audrina by V.C Andrews. I don't recommend 13 year olds reading any of her stuff. I first discovered V.C in the adult section of the library. I figured that since the cover had a kid on it and the title was FLOWERS in the ATTIC, that it could only be a fantasy filled fest of love. Instead i found out it was an incestuous family filled fest of love. After that i think i racked up all her books just to see how much more she could shock me. After i got through all her books (before the ghost writer started writing for her) i was a) freaked the hell out about ever having a step father and b) in love with My Sweet Audrina (the only book not about incest though it had something to do with rape)



I hadn't read it since high school and had this sudden urge just to spend the whole week with My Sweet Audrina and all it's characters. I have that sort of connection to books. Under the covers, Ipod playlist playing, cats at the edge of the bed, and some books next to me. I wish that was a job, because I'm really good at doing that.


So when i got to the bookstore MSA was waiting for me, much to my delight, and i was pretty much ready to go until i wondered over to the K section.


Me and Kerouac have had a complex relationship. When you read books when you are younger they don't always have such a profound affect on you. Hence Charles Dickens, who I've only just begun to respect. For the most part i only knew of Kerouac through my father, who i swear adopted Kerouac's swagger (and love of liquor). I knew of On the Road, and Dharma Bums. I knew of The Beat Generation and Allen Ginsberg, but i brushed them aside for well...Romance novels and My Sweet Audrina.


But i guess I'm in a different place now far from "that" land of fantasy.


I've been thinking about writing a lot lately. Ever since my rejection from writing school and soon to be new adventures in New Haven. I think a lot of times my writing reflects my state of mind. It's completely this extension of myself, which is why i struggled so hard with writing fiction. I can't begin to explain that anxiety that arose from having to create and write. I don't know yet if fiction is particularly my genre because it didn't come naturally to me like poetry or journal writing did.

Every seems to say the same thing "Your poetic Beckett" "Prosy" or my dreaded and least favorite "flowery" and i struggle with finding the balance between technical and dreamy.Which is sort why i am struggling with fiction.


I kick myself in the ass daily because i believe now that Creative Nonfiction is probably what i am best at doing. If anything else telling stories about my own life is not only a little easier but more honest to who i am .


When i say that i want to emerge myself more in reality, it's not at all about abandoning the idyllic aspects of my nature it's about being more honest in everything i do. For honesty is about acceptance of every aspect of yourself. Your past, your present, and anything that emerges from it.



Sometimes i don't feel like an honest person, because i hold back in fear of how people will view me. I am self conscious. And what i present to the world almost seems like particles instead of this whole unified person. Instead i feel cracked, and the cracks seem to be a hindrance more than a guard.



If i was more honest, i wonder, who i could really be. I wonder what stories could really emerge.The only place where i completely open is on this blog. Where i can let everything out, without too much regard on if it makes me look silly, crazy or everything in between.



For a couple of days it's just been me and Kerouac with some Stevie Nicks in the background. I like his style, his openness, and even his swagger. There is something brutality honest about him (in BIG SUR). He says what he feels but also what he means. There is nothing guarded in his words despite the vulnerability of him. He's the most honest man I've ever encountered (besides my dad) and I now know what my teachers mean when they say i write flowery. I guard my thoughts with complex and almost indecipherable language. It's pretty hard to read because i am protecting my words and thoughts.

What i am learning is that if i wish to write and be successful at it there has to be an honesty in the things that i write outside of this blog. I just need to let the words come up, and give way of the self conscious me. My words or life cannot be so guarded because it takes away from what i wish to convey and who i wish to be. Honesty is where the truth of who you are resides, and even if it's a gritty and vulnerable there is something compelling and relatable to it.

I'd like to be more honest in both my writing and my life. I know it's a vulnerable sort of action but it's a lot more true to who i am. I guess I'm just tired of hiding all the time.