Camp NaNo - July 2015

This morning I decided to get working on my new story idea I've been pondering for a while. It's a transgender story with sci-fi elements to it. This is the first sci-fi story I've ever attempted to write. I love Star Trek, Star Wars and a few other sci-fi books and movies. I also love Stargate, Babylon 5. to name just a few. I want to make this story a great one. I am going to attempt this story with an open mind. I'm transgender too. So this is going to be an eye opener.

The title so far is called Forgotten Rebels. It's theme is transgender, dysfuctional family fiction too.

Outline:
Ambitious, sporty and butch. Danielle was known to her friends as the  butch lesbian. She knew this wasn't her true self. She was confused and felt so alone in her life. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw something that she couldn't understand. It wasn't her looking back it as a short, spiky haired boy looking at her. Not her at all. She knew she was different, but this was confusing her beyond belief.

Danni went to her parents to ask about taking her to a gender therapist. They refused and told  her she was a girl. Danni was fourteen and in high school. She knew who she was. She wasn't the girl she struggled to be, but a boy trapped inside her female body. She got her parents together and told them she was going to run away if they didn't listen to her. She knew she had to get away from them. She ran to the woods where she found a portal. It was glowing bright blue and green. the colors where twirling into each other. She put her hand into it and felt someone grab it. They tried to pull her into the portal. She pulled back as hard as she could. She was yanked through the portal.

Danni saw the three boys who had pulled her into the portal. She was now confused to where she was. nothing looked the same. The town was different somehow. it was like Hythe, not the Hythe she knew. She knew she was in a different world. This is her story from girl into boy in a matter of seconds.

Excerpt:

It was a cold blustery night in December. The rain was coming down in bucket loads. It was like God’s bath was badly overflowing. With Danni researching names he wanted to be know as. He was going to come out to his parents once he picked the right time and with his younger sisters tucked up snug in their beds. This was the time to tell his parents who he truly was. No more hiding under a bushel.

Slowly Danni walked into the living room were his parents were cuddling on the couch watching Dirty Dancing. It was Mom’s favorite movie of all time. Just as Danni walked into the room, he could see it was his only chance to become the boy they should have been born as. The time was now. Whether it was the right time or not, Danni had to tell them his plans for the rest of their life.

Slowly he stood in front of the TV screen, blocking them from seeing the movie. It would make them pause it while he came out. Not sure of their reaction to his news. Also what he’d picked as his boy name. “Mom, Dad I got something important to discuss with you.” His Dad hit the pause button on the remote. Danni knew what he was about to say. “Yes this is the right time. It’s very important” Danni told them.

“Danielle what is it? Hurry as this is the best part.” Danni hated being called Danielle. It wasn’t their right name in their book.

“Mom, Dad, I’m a transgender person. It means I was born into the wrong body. Don’t worry, I printed out some things I found on the internet that best explains what I am and what I am going to do to right the birth defect.” Danni explained to them as he handed out what he’d printed off the internet. “No Mom it isn’t a phase at all. I want you to refer to me as Marquis, or Mark. I research and know my grandfather was also named Marquis. I’ll have a middle name of David. So I’ll be Marquis David Foxx.” Mark was finished talking. He waited on his parents to listen and help him change, or would they disown him for this?

What is the Price of Creativity?

The world is a place where everything is bargained. You want to have a car? You must have the enough amount of money to buy it. You want to run a mile? You should have enough energy to do it. And that’s why I sometimes think, what is the price of creativity?

I’ve spent most of my adult life pondering about things and trying to look at them in different perspectives. When most people see a cat, I want that cat to be some sort of an inspirational gold mine. I want it to teach me something deep about life and the universe. I want to make a story out of it or, if it’s impossible to extract a story worth telling, maybe a poem or some artistic output right then and there.

This often leads me to becoming over-creative. Often I want to be clever and different. I want to break and challenge the status quo. And sometimes, this brings bad things to me.
For example, just a few months ago, I accepted a challenge to participate in a short story writing competition. I was confident because I had so much stories in my head and I wanted others to read them.

At first, I thought this is good. I have a lot of stories to tell. My creative mind is working perfectly as it  should be. 

So, I let a few weeks pass trying to make the story “ripe” enough to be written. And that takes me to today. It’s less than a week before the deadline, and I’m cramming into what could be a half-baked story.

I asked myself what happened in the past months? What was the problem?

And I got the answer that I never expected. Yes, I have a lot of stories in mind to tell. But the problem is, I have a lot of stories to tell.

I packed myself too much in thinking of notable stories to a point that I can no longer choose which story will I  write about. It’s like I was in a buffet where all of my favorite dishes were served. I wasted time trying to decide what I really wanted so I just took everything and got sated.

Maybe, that’s one of creativity’s prices. You are forever burdened with the responsibility to to come up with stories worth telling to a point where  your shoulders can no longer bear the brunt of pressure to tell every story.

Perhaps, it’s the pressure that people unknowingly put on you. It’s the constant gazes at you, expecting you to blurt out some inspirational phrase, or say something deep, emotional or life changing.

Ultimately, maybe it’s the pressure you tend to put on yourself. Maybe it’s the unceasing wanting to prove that you are creative and worthy of recognition. That you can, and will be, clever and different; or that you will be able to change the system.


However, as blunt as it may seems, the pressure you experience isn’t really worthy anything.
You are not tasked by the world to tell everything. Maybe it just asks you tell a single story. People don’t look at you  while waiting for something inspirational or life changing. In fact, most of them don’t care about you at all. And maybe you are not bound to eradicate or change the system. Maybe you need to create a system of your own.

If I had learned anything about my disappointing writer’s block, it is this: that you can’t always deep meaning in everything. Sometimes things happen because they just do. Not because they are pulled in a way that can change your life. Sometimes, the universe wants you to see the blue skies not to make you fell sad, or calm or anything, but because the sky is simply blue.

Just like when you buy a car, or run a mile, you don’t mope over the prices you paid. You don’t brood for the dollars you spent or the energy you exerted. What you do is use the car, or finish the run.
The same is true with creativity, you shouldn’t focus on the price you paid. You focus on the benefit you gained.