Pledge

It's the 1st of June, the first day of Summer, a summer for which I have great hopes. For starters, unlike other years, this time we'll have a holiday in the sunny Italy - two weeks of beaches, tan and sexy clothes, clubbing, dancing, tequilla and my summer favorite Bacardi Breezer with pineapple flavor. Two weeks of zero gaming, no computer, no internet, no TV. Two weeks of outdoors, of sleepless nights and pleasant tiredness of too much fun. Will I be able to live through such exgravaganza? I haven't had a day without computer for a very long time. In fact, I don't even know how it is and I am fairly certain that this holiday will be stressing in a way. I am addicted to the world and my connection to that is my computer and the all powerful internet.

There is another thing to do for this sumer, or better said, staring now. I will write, even though I am mediocre to say the least in this domain. But after reading the endless resources that mister Orson Scott Card freely offers on his great site Hatrack, I have learned that, in order to be a writer, which is what I am, you have to... tadaa: write. And read, and suffer, and not use too many exclamation marks.

I read a lot, in fact I believe I am addicted to reading as I have never ever had a boring day at the office, since Internet is an endless resource for that. I read all too quickly all the books that I buy, and sometimes I even postpone starting them because I know that from that moment on, they are like finished and I will be once again left alone in this cruel real world that holds no fascination as my books do. In the past weeks I finished Prey by Michael Chricton (I love this guy, and I loved half of the book, until it proved to be just a cheap commercial novel), Pastwatch by Orson Scott Card (I am totally in love with this book, so I won't be objective at all if I say now that it's the best book I've ever read), The White Fever by Frank Herbert (I didn't finish this one, it's too dark even for my sometimes very very dark and pesimistic soul), three of the Shadows by the same wonderful Card (do I have to say that they're extraordinary books?), Asimov's "I, the Robot" (mmmm, yes, loved it loved it loved it) and now I re-read "The Journal of a Blind Teenager" (bad bad translation) by Mircea Eliade, one of the greatest, if not THE greatest, Romanian novelists. This being said, I am left once again without books to read, but I started re-reading LOTR anyhow so I guess I am ok for now.

I also suffer, a thing that should come AFTER writing but I am living it now. I suffer for all the things that I can't write, all the things I know I have to write but I just don't because I am a selfish bastard. A friend of mine however, opened my eyes and I hope to keep this feeling and this wisdom until the soft cadence of typing will become a part of my daily life, a drug just like internet and cigarettes are for me, right now. This friend wrote in his blog that he is not writing for anyone, that he doesn't care and never imagined that anyone would ever read his blog.

I always write for my readers at Level, Computer Games and wherever I publish, I know I have something to say but I choose my words carefully to say what they want to hear and not what I need to show, in away that they like enough to comment: "Great article, Lara", or "Well written" or the likes. Those praises mean so much to me, but I am wrong and they are wrong too. I read them, and I get the feeling that I am a good journalist and I become lazy - the truth is I am NOT a good journalist and my latest articles are lame because I am lazy, uninterested and I don't have what to say anymore- at least for now, I hope. And most of all, when it comes to write something for my own, someting creative, something truly from my soul, I freeze, because I do not have the base to build on, I do not have the news, the fact, the clear proof that I can extrapolate, explain and debate. Writing a personal blog is a highly creative, very hard thing to do. I wonder why - I can extrapolate, but this is how I feel it. I guess it's a hard thing because it is meant to aid in knowing yourself, and I am just not sure I trully want to know myself just yet. I am affraid of what I might find out, because, as much as I like to deny it, I am the kind of person who thinks is perfect or at least she should be. I generally rarely appologise and I am having a hard time to admit the mistakes i make even to myself. I do admit them sometimes, in complete solitude and that is when I am so ashamed of myself, so sick and disapointed that I think in such moments I'd even be able to do something very foul and stupid.

You see, the problem is, I think I am a bad person. I don't think I have always been bad, but I don't have any true friends except my husband, people dislike me, and for good reason, and every time I try to connect with someone (other than my husband) I screw up. I don't make many gifts and I don't make good deeds and my values are meant to elude me to see that in fact, I live a very very selfish life. OK... I should stop now...

Anyhow, what I mean to say that starting with the first day of the summer, which is today, I decided to write. I don't know what, but I guess only time will tell. I want to write good games articles, I want to share here whatever I find interesting to read on the internet, I want to try and write short stories and basically, I want to give some form to the thousands of dreams, characters and fantastic deeds that live inside my head. Plus, I think that the time has come to face myself - so this is me, exposed. Let's home I won't turn out to be as bad as I think I am now.