Why it is important to be inspired by others.

I am halfway through with my novel. I'm pretty pleased with myself and I never thought I could get so far. I know I'm not quite there yet, but the end is in sight and the further I get into my story, the more excited I am to keep on writing. I have found the right story but I have also found the right people to inspire me.

Because let's face it. Everybody is inspired by somebody. No matter how unique we feel we are, we always need somebody to encourage us. Whose work inspires us to create our own fantastic pieces. Of course, it is great when your family and friends tell you that you are super awesome and that they have never read/heard/seen something as brilliant as you've just created, but they are the people closest to you. It's kind of their duty to not slag you off. I really appreciate all the great comments and feedback from my friends and family, but I have found out that feedback from people whose work I truly admire are of immense value to me in my quest to be able to say: "Yes, I wrote a novel. Guess I'm a true writer now. Go me!"

There have been two people who have truly inspired me to keep on writing. When I was about 12, I stopped writing altogether because I felt like it didn't suit me any purpose anymore. I wasn't going through a good time and I couldn't cope with writing anymore because it made me relive emotions I tried to keep away from me. It was a foolish thing to do as I threw away that one thing that made me cope. But we always find out stuff like that until we are older, don't we?
I discovered Mika's music when I was 15-years old and inspired by his ability to create a whole world around his songs, I slowly picked up writing again. It felt good. I wrote lyrics and poetry which were really awful, but they helped me process my thoughts. The more I wrote, the more comfortable I became with words. In 2011, 5 years after I had picked up writing again, I wrote a short story collection based on Mika's songs. Looking back at it, those stories were really quite bad. But I was proud of myself for managing to pull through and create something. I did give it to him and he seemed to like it. Probably because of the pretty illustrations.
I decided to keep on writing and wrote a longer story. It wasn't really all that bad, but I had barely done any editing and it was filled with flaws. I had it printed, but on the day I was planning on giving it to him, I got cold feet. What if he would laugh at me? My friend Laura convinced me to give it to him anyway and I did and I am glad I did. It was just the two of us and him (and the band) so there was no rush. I told him I had something for him and gave him the book. I said it was still a draft and it wasn't really that good, but he said that he loved it and showed it to one of the bandmembers (who couldn't give any fucks). That was enough for me, so I kept going.
Last year, I wrote a collection of poems and lyrics, and got some copies printed. I called it Chasing the Sun because I have an obsession with the sun and moon (which will be evident in the novel I'm writing) and I feel like chasing the sun is a good metafor. The sun is the biggest star after all, and just chasing the stars is for pussies. I'm actually still really proud of that book (first time) and love the illustrations (thanks to Ana).
I gave it to him last year after I first had to snap my fingers in his face.

He looked at it and genuinely liked it. He said he'd look at it in the car and held on to the book until he actually got in the car, while he gave all other gifts to his assistant. I had already gone by the time he got in the car, but when I saw a picture of him holding on to the book, it made me very happy.

I don't know if he has actually read the books (it's ok if he skipped the first two), but just his response every time I give him something I've created is enough for me to keep on going. I hope that I will be able to give my novel to him by the time it is finished. But we'll see that in the upcoming months. I first have to finish that thing.

The second person who inspired my writing was Neil Gaiman. I first read Neverwhere after picking it up while on a trip to the UK and I immediately fell in love with his writing. He is a master storyteller and that is something I want to become as well. You can write the most beautiful sentences, but if you can't tell a story, you're fucked.
Anyway, when I found out he was in my country I dragged my friend over to Rotterdam and we listened to him talk for 45 minutes and then entered the back of the queue to get my books signed. I wanted to say thank you for his stories, as by that time I had read almost all of his novels and especially his last one (Ocean at the end of the lane) had touched me deeply. So I did say thank you. And we talked a bit and he suddenly asked me if I was a writer. I said I tried to be, as I wasn't really sure at that point if I could make it. He said "Good, keep writing."

 I had no excuse now. Neil Gaiman told me I had to keep writing so I did. I had started many stories and had failed at finishing all of them. I almost gave up but then I realised I had to keep on writing if I ever wanted to get better. So I started writing short stories again and poems. I wrote so many things until at last the puzzle pieces of stories in my head came together and actually formed a concrete story. The one I'm working on right now.
I tweeted that a year ago Neil told me to keep writing and that I did and that I got so far already. And without expecting it, a new interaction popped up on my timeline:

I am so sure now that I will finish this and that when the story is done I will be proud of what I have accomplished and proud of the characters I have created. There are many more writers who have inspired me (such as Angela Carter and Kurt Vonnegut) who have unfortunately passed away. I am just happy that the people who have inspired me gave me hope and confidence that this is something that I can do. That I can accomplish something. It may not mean a lot to them, but it sure means the world to me. I am still trying to find my voice and I'm certainly not at the top of my game yet, but I will continue to get better and no matter what happens with the story once I finish it, it is certain that I will finish it.

So, if you have a dream, if you want to create something but are afraid to do so. Don't be. Don't listen to those who say you can't sing or dance or write. Don't listen to those who say that you will never be a professional drawer. Believe in yourself and strive to get better. You will be amazed at the results.

Where inspiration comes from

I have written 20,000 words so far. I feel incredibly proud as it is finally starting to shape up to something, which is marvelous of course. I plan to write a blog every time I've written another 10,000 words, so yay, here it is!

I was at my grandmother's birthday party the other night and my cousin told me that she thought it was amazing how people could just come up with stories and build entire worlds with nothing but their imagination. I agreed it was amazing. I'm not at the point yet where I can just create a world like J.K. Rowling did or come up with hundreds of characters and keep them all apart like George RR Martin. However, while writing my story now I find that often the story seems to write itself. The longer I'm working on it, the easier it gets.

Inspiration is a bitch. When you're looking for it, you won't find it. When you're not even thinking about finding it, it will hit you. I see a lot of people ask famous artists what inspires them, but I feel like it shouldn't be about what inspires them, but when they find inspiration. You can be inspired by everything. A man picking his nose in the train? Yessir! A cat chilling on a front porch? Inspiration right there! A woman who randomly spits fire in the streets? Stranger things have happened but it is inspiring alright!

I have spent a long time trying to write longer stories but I always failed because of so many reasons and I never understood why I couldn't just get shit done. Now I get it. I didn't have the right stories back then. I've found the right story now. Regardless of what happens with it after it's done, I'm already proud of it.

I will keep sharing my adventures in writingland here so I hope you will keep checking back.

Love,

Ingrid

Song of the day: The Bed Song

It's already late at night and I should be in bed right now but obviously I'm still awake and I felt like writing a blog. And I don't know if I've ever written about this song, but I don't care. When I'm writing, I'm inspired by music and by powerful lyrics. However, there are few songs which give me chills down my spine and make me tear up. One of those songs is the Bed Song by Amanda Palmer.

A powerful video and an even more powerful song. I have noticed that whenever I'm writing, my stories tend to be about lost love and heartbreak because it is a subject that fascinates me. I am fascinated by the fact that two human beings can love each other so much that having to let go causes physical pain. And in today's society it is easy to lose sight of one another even when you're living under the same roof. Much too often do lovers become strangers. It seems like we have forgotten how to communicate. At least for me this song does show that no matter the obstacles, love does survive. We only tend to forget it sometimes in our hectic lives.

I'm a sucker for songs which tell stories and The Bed Song is a beautiful story. You have to be made of stone not to be touched by it. It makes you think which is something many songs lack these days; the ability to move us and make us take a closer look at the world around us again.

I hope you will enjoy the song while I will go to bed.

Goodnight!

Ingrid

Update on what I am doing.

I know I've been awful at keeping up with this blog. That has a reason as I am very busy with writing my first novel. I'm used to writing short stories, but this is a whole new thing for me. I have tried writing novels in the past as well, but somehow I always got stuck and that sucks because it makes you feel like a failure. Now I realised I didn't fail at writing all those other novels. I just didn't have to right story to tell yet and this time, I do have a story that has to be told.

 I won't tell you what it is about just yet. That's a secret. But I do want you to know what I'm working on. Sometimes the story comes easy. It just nestles its way into my head and I won't stop writing until inspiration has run dry. Sometimes it is harder though and it seems like the people in my head refuse to come out on paper. Those days are annoying, but necessary I guess.

 I hope that I will have the story finished by the end of the Summer, both the Dutch and English version. And I hope that when it is as perfect as it should be, I am able to share it with you. That's all really. Thank you for reading my blog and I hope that soon I will be able to thank you for reading my book. As for now, here's a sketch I did about a part of the story. Please know that I suck at drawing but I make up for that in fabulousness.

 

Love,

Ingrid

The sexualisation of women

Today while I was attempting to write my essay on the novel Disgrace, I heard my brother listening to a song. Two guys were rapping. I hadn't heard the song before, but it basically spoke about women the way most hiphop songs do. Like objects. "I like pussy. I like cunts, but I don't like women" one of them shouted. I was disgusted. It seems to be not more than normal to view women as nothing more but objects who have to listen to men, because, well men are superior, aren't they?

I'm not a feminist. I don't go around burning my bra, screaming how awful men are. Because I've met quite a few good men along the way. However, the thing that bothers me is that there is still a large majority of guys who think it is normal to treat women like they are of no importance. Like they are just there to please men. In the novel I have to write an essay about, there is one quote that particularly sparked my interest: “She does not own herself. Beauty does not own itself.” This is not just a quote from a book. It is sadly what some men perceive to be reality.

Whenever a girl walks down the street in a pretty dress and men whistle, she is supposed to feel honoured. She is supposed to feel good about the fact that she looks good enough to be whistled at. To be considered an object of desire. But how honourable is it to be whistled at by strangers, asked for sexual favours and more often than not, after you decline, being called stuck-up or a whore? Yes, everybody likes attention. Everybody likes to be considered pretty. It's fun to flirt. But that doesn't mean that a girl wants to flirt with every random guy on the street. It doesn't mean that a girl is appreciative of your sexual comments. It doesn't make someone feel better. It only makes them feel scared and insecure.

I remember when I was 19 and I was alone waiting for the train. A guy came up to me. He was my age and he started talking to me so we had a nice conversation. When the train came, he followed me and sat opposite me. At a sudden point he would start stroking my leg and I felt very uncomfortable about it. I was afraid to speak up because I was rather shy. He asked me if I wanted to come to his house to have sex. I politely declined. I had known this guy for half an hour and he already thought it was okay for him to ask me for sexual favours, just because he was in the mood for sex and I was the first vagina he spotted.

Women are sexualised in the media, that's a fact. And I think that it's okay for women to use their sexuality to a certain extend. There is nothing wrong with nudity as long as it is tasteful. There is no shame in the female body. But how often do we see half-naked men on Page Three? How often are men called manwhores for having sex with a lot of different girls? Women are sluts the moment they enjoy their sexuality and sleep with more than one guy. Why is a man a hero when he slept with 5 girls in one weekend? 

Miley Cyrus, Rihanna, even Beyonce who is seen as the rolemodel for female empowerment show themselves as sexual objects in their music videos. It's fine when you want to show the world that you are comfortable in your skin, but the fact that the ladies perform all kinds of sexual acts in the video, while the men are usually just watching it happen is strange.

In her latest video, Jennifer Lopez turned the tables around and had hot half-naked men perform the role of video hoes. And what strikes me most is that a lot of people were actually surprised by the video. As if men can't be objects of desire. As if us girls can't lust after a guy without being called a whore.

When girls get raped, there are people who dare to say that it is the girl's fault. That if she hadn't dressed 'provocatively' it wouldn't have happened. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with clothes. It has to do with values. It has to do with respect. It seems that we live in a world in which boys are taught that women are inferior, whether by their environment or by what they see in the media. Instead of blaming girls for being put in the position of lust object, we should teach boys that you treat a woman with respect. That you do not touch her if she does not want you to touch her. That you do not go up to a strange girl to ask her for sex and call her names if she doesn't comply. Because men don't own women. We don't wear a sign around our necks that says I'M A WHORE, USE ME AS YOU PLEASE. 

Sex is a great thing and it is a powerful thing. It's great when two people are in love and make love. But it has to always be consensual and all the parties involved have to be respected. I fear we still have a long way to go before we're truly equal. Until that time, dear media, instead of just throwing boobs in our faces all the time, at least show up some penis action too. You know, for equality.

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The Victory of the Bearded Lady

Yesterday was the Eurovision song contest as you inevitably must have heard. Unless you're not from Europe, then you have an excuse to not know whaddup. Anyways, those who follow me on twitter could read my fantastic live report as I was tweeting whilst watching the show. The sport of it all is too be witty and entertaining. Being a bit bitchy is allowed as long as you don't make it personal.

Yesterday was the final and it was more than just entertainment. Of course, we all installed ourselves in front of the television with our laptops and phone in hand, ready to share every thought on social media. But this year the Eurovision wasn't just about who wore the best/worst dress or had the weirdest act. This year the world outside of the Eurovision bubble managed to invade and it was magical. The Eurovision Song Contest has always been about politics, neighbours voting for each other etc. It had little to do with music and more to do with extravagence. But this year, Austria entered the lady with the beard, Conchita Wurst. To some it might have been a witty act to garner attention, but to many others, including myself, it was a statement. A statement of being who you are and nobody who can touch you.

Ever since the semi-finals, Conchita has been my favourite and the favourite of many others. She did not just perform an act but she was honestly amazing. Her voice sounded phenomenal and the song was truly empowering. It was no surprise that she went through to the final and eventually won it.

The final was entertaining, although most acts were exactly like they had been in the semi-finals, with the additional countries which go through automatically for paying most money to finance to whole thing. Nobody was impressed until Conchita took the stage and owned the show. Social media went wild. It was a done deal.

Why yesterday was a statement? Well, because of the current political situation in Russia mostly. Russia, Belarus, Azerbeijan, they all wanted to ban her performance and when that failed, they aimed to not air her performance in their countries. Outrageous.
But hate doesn't win. It never does. And Europe showed that yesterday. The large majority of Europe united in their support for the bearded lady and Austria got vote after vote after vote. What's more is that at the mention of Russia alone, the crowd would start booing, the people on twitter started booing and we all brought Conchita her victory and with her victory, we brought ours as well. Because only if we fight together, we can fight intolerance and increase acceptance. I felt sorry for the Russian twins who had to endure the boo'ing, but it wasn't aimed at them and it wasn't aimed at all the people of Russia. I know enough Russians who have no problem with gays or people who are different. It was mainly aimed at Putin and the politicians who support his conduct.

After the final, a Russian politician posted: "There's no limit to our outrage. It's the end of Europe. It has turned wild. They don't have men and women any more. They have 'it'." But it is not the end of Europe. It is the beginning. Because regardless of our differences, we all agree that everybody should be able to live their life the way they want it to. To look the way they want to look without being insulted. To love who they want to, without being condemned. And that is a victory and there is no man whose hunger for power can stop that.

So congratulations Conchita. Congratulations to my own country for coming in second (hey it's been a while) and congratulations to Europe. We're one step closer to acceptance.

Short story - Destiny

I haven't posted any writings I've done here in quite a while and as I'm working on a bigger story right now, I thought it would be nice to share a little short story with you today which fits the theme of the other one. I like to stay in that same kind of mood. I hope you'll like it and I promise I will try to write more. Ugh, life that gets in the way. So annoying.

Anyway. Here it is. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Sometimes I wonder if you can hear my voice travel through the layers of time. You didn’t want to go, I could tell by the way you looked at me. By the way your voice broke when you said the words. When you told me that you loved me. I was there. I held your hand and I kissed your lips and I whispered sweet nothings in your ear, hoping that it would make it all the more bearable. “I’ll see you on the other side,” I said and a faint smile appeared on your lips. But I knew you didn’t believe me. I knew it was the end and so did you.

I rested my head on your shoulder. You were already cold and distant. I never realised how much I truly cared for you until that moment. Until I was losing you. I held you close. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the person you used to be. The one I gave my heart to. All that mattered was that we were here. Together. Until the last breath. “Don’t give up on me,” you said and I replied that I wouldn’t. I sang you a sad song. I sang you a happy song. I sang a song about missing you. But I never sang a song about forgetting you. How could I? You were a part of me.

I saw you staring in the distance. Your eyes looked a thousand worlds away. I gave way to tears as I held your hand for the last time. I saw you smiling. A smile of an angel. A cold evening, a lonely morning.

And I stayed by your side. Until the sun faded and the moonlight was nothing but a memory. I stayed by your side. Until my skin was wrinkly and old, my hair white and my body fragile. I stayed by your side until my heart stopped beating. Until we were one. We erased the times we lost each other. We cherished the moments we shared. You lived within me, so we never had to say goodbye.

It was...destiny.