As I sit here, finally typing after staring at a blank document for the better half of an hour, I have come to realize that I have been drowning myself in a dilemma of sorts. On one side, I want to write. I want to write about a lot of things, some of them bookish and others not so much. But then there is this more logical and far less selfish side; a side that partially wants to conform to whatever will please my audience. Posts that will make them smile, make them feel good, or merely accumulate their approval. This raises questions, lots of questions, as to what I should write. Do I write from the heart, or write from the satchel of societal satisfaction? Thus, my random, disillusioned bits of contemplation have led me into a sour writing slump, one of which I would require a rope fifty feet long to climb myself out of.
This is only one half of the reason behind my inability to write anything for the past couple of weeks. While I love reading, and have always viewed the task as a form of sustenance for my soul, I found myself keenly losing interest in the hobby altogether. Whenever I picked up a novel and read it, instead of seeing the story for what it truly is, instead of allowing myself to connect with the characters, the unfolding events, or even the author, all I did was view the content from an objectively technical perspective. It was as if I had mutated into a tasteless artificial intelligence whose sole purpose was to spew out neat, perfect little reviews like a blue-collared junkie. In an alarmingly hasty manner, my passion for reading was being sucked out of me, like a thick chocolate milkshake being slurped through a ridiculously unaccommodating straw: slow and sad.
So, what the bloody hell do I do now, other than to make a ridiculously random post about my ridiculously irrelevant problem, that is.
Lots of fucking thinking.
Thinking in relation to what kind of reader and what kind of writer I want to be.
Sure, let’s start with that.
In all honesty, I was starting to loathe myself as both a bibliophile and a prattler. I felt that I had reached a point where I needed to take a very large step back and look at the portrait that I had painted for myself. Losing my love for reading was simply not an option. It is tied to an immensely profound bit of sentimentalism that I will never be ready to part with. But there is another motive for not wanting to let it fade away: it has molded me into the human being that I am today. Reading has always been the perfect way for me to travel around the world, the universe, or even farther. It has allowed to me interact with people (and aliens) that have opened my mind to a whole space of unique, thought-provoking ideals. A new found appreciation for many concepts that I had never bothered to understand (like certain mental health illnesses, the grey shading in the black and white vision for a villain, the bloody motives for a hero’s “good intent,” etc. etc.) sprouted deep within my fleshy mass of meat and bones. How do I let all of that go? The one thing in this crazy and unfair world that has helped me grow as a person, and kept me grounded the most?
I fucking don’t, that’s how.
Instead of losing my passion for reading, which in turn contributes to my desire for writing, I have decided to wipe my slate clean and start fresh, like the powdery soft skin of a baby’s bottom. Lots of thought and consideration went into what I needed to do for myself so I could continue to practice what I love. All of the crazy cogs and gears of my rather insane brain has led me from my identity crisis to the rediscovery of the kind blogger that I want to become. The first step upon the birth of this realization was to create a new name. That is where BiblioNyan comes from. It’s silly and short, something that resonates with an anti-social adolescent on an instant messaging program, but you know… I don’t care. I love it. It fits my personality in many ways and feels the most comfortable upon my skin. The next step was trying to decide if I wanted to delete all of my written posts, really get this sonofabitch squeaky clean. In the end, I abjured on that notion. It’s my history, it’s the evidence that illustrates how I have evolved. Plus, so much effort went into it, I just did not have the heart to murder it away.
The final piece in this twisted Tetris form of self-empiricism? Staying absolutely true to myself. Sounds simple enough, very much a “no-duh” kind of common sense belief, I know… Yet, I have found this to be excruciatingly difficult, especially when you get swept away in the sparkles and glitter of popular opinion. It isn’t until all of that decoration falls apart that you see the bland piece of lead it was all stuck to. So, I won’t be doing that anymore. Instead, I will blog with bloody honest ramblings, full-disclosure, and wholehearted vulgarity. It’s who I am, and I won’t be apologizing for it, at least not today. I’m too sober for that.
What does this mean for the “review” part of this blog? Well… They will no longer be reviews; nothing technical, no more “pros and cons,” no more objectivity. Alternately, I will be doing “chit-chat” types of mumblings. My “reviews” will be a discussion of thoughts and feelings that I received from the book, and as such they will be intimate, candid, and unfiltered… subjective… and it excites me… and that feels really fucking good.
Moving onwards to the awkward and jarring conclusion to my rather interminable cogitation: The Book Brew has burned away. It helped me realize that what I was doing was not working for me. In fact, I only drowned myself into the depths of something that did not please me. So, like a Phoenix, from her ashes rises BiblioNyan. A blogger who will be entirely true to herself, full of dry humor and colorful phrases to satisfy the thoughts that crave release from a spongey and purple brain of sorts. Topics will still very much surround books, anime, and film with more cat pictures because I’m obsessed and why the bloody hell not? But they will also be more personal, just whatever is eating away at my mind in the moment, which means that not everything will conform to books, anime, or film.
If you’ve read to the end, then I thank you dearly and sincerely. I bow to your unwavering attention and feel great appreciation for it. But I am curious, has anyone else felt themselves questioning what they were doing, and if they felt right about it? I would love to know if I’m alone in my corner of mental instability or not.
Until next time! ♥