Writing

I’m struggling to finish my novel. My edited copy is gone.

It’s funny. I felt like I was supposed to stop editing in December. Or if I did edit it…I was supposed to not change too much. And that version really was the best. And it still exists but it’s difficult to access…

If I can hear ghosts at God’s permission…if…I don’t prefer it. I’d rather have had living company. Who cared. Told me when to stop editing.

…You know…sometimes I get the sense that the LGBTQ+ “community” wants to include me in it because of my open, public admission to possibly falling in love with ghosts. And while I actually find that endearing of a community I’m not sure it’s fair. Or correct.

The thing is…first, I don’t respect the idea of “community” anymore almost at all as it’s become defined in the 21st Century so far. I was in the “perfume community” and it was…*laugh* absurd at best. There was no real agape love in that community. It was all subterfuge and pretension. People being nice to each other to get followers and status and a socially acceptable platform to show off. And I did show off too. Not compete (or one-up) but show off… I’ll admit it. It’s nice to appropriately display beautiful, meaningful material possessions you’re proud off, but of course one shouldn’t provoke jealousy? *rubbing forehead* It’s a fine line I struggle to perfect… Oh well. …The thing is, what’s the point of joining another early 21st Century “community” of people who only pretend to give a damn about each other for egoistical purposes? Or if they do care eventually get hurt by the reality of human frailty and shallowness? The futility of Marxist nonsense?

…Also, does the supernatural even count?! I mean really. Does it?! …I feel like including the supernatural possibly waters down the original intent of the LGBTQ+ “community” if it ever had a moral high ground at all. It’s almost too inclusive. If I can truly talk to ghosts…it’s possibly because my father conceived me in his late 80’s. Does that really count? It’s not an orientation. It possibly proves that the supernatural exists…and that some people’s brains through Satanic manipulation (which clearly is wrong according to Christianity) or “nature” see the unseen. But does it deserve an accredited membership in the club, so to speak? I doubt it, honestly. It’s an unusual experience certainly…but…it’s not a persuasion. It might be an actual flaw. *laugh* Like my brain might be both unusually sharp…and somehow extremely sensitive to things most people ignore. I’m not autistic. But it’s more akin to that maybe than a sexual orientation. It’s atypical. And while it’s not a disability or a derangement (*eye-roll* at those who would love for it to be a derangement) it’s…not really normal either. Some might be sexually aroused by the supernatural, the dead or etc. in general…but that’s not me. Everyone dies… Believe it or not. *laugh* All men… All people in love. Does everyone by extension join the community when they die?! And if we’re all but living ghosts until we die…are we all secretly members of the LBTQ+ “community?”

…

But how…do I write my ending? I hate my novel in some ways right now. I find it ludicrous in certain parts according to my standards… I need to finish it though. And I think my worry is that someone dead is going to get truly hurt…

…

But…they seemingly wrote themselves into my story if they did…so to speak. Originally I wasn’t intending to include anyone but characters inspired by the living except for one dead person briefly. That was in 2013. But now…there are literally dozens of characters and side characters and sub-plot characters…and “historically referenced” characters who may all have lived at one point. And I truly don’t want to hurt good-hearted people dead or alive.

…

I should have gone up to Frank McCourt and greeted him while he was living when I had the chance. He had a delightfully (genuinely) fatherly presence. But it felt too heartbreaking, terrifying and shocking…and I have no real idea why. I had no idea why. I hope he’s at least in Purgatory even though he had very little open respect for the Catholic Church.

Right after he died I read about it. And either that day or soon after I was walking to my (then boyfriend’s) ex-husband’s apartment. And my mother (who raised me) apparently was “worried.” So she prayed. …At least she said she prayed. To God. Jesus. The Christian God. And she said that she fervently prayed for angels to protect me. …And the thing is, I had felt like I was being “talked to” by the ghost of Frank McCourt as I walked to the apartment. But I told myself it was craziness and imagination because I’d just recently read about his death…

He was not happy about my ex-husband. At all. He felt I was making a terrible mistake in even dating him. At least that’s what “his ghost” told me… Vehemently. And then he seemingly disappeared.

I don’t believe dead people become angels. No. Angels are their own creatures. But we do become like angels in Heaven according to Jesus.

…

Maybe God sees my mother’s heart. And sends whomever He pleases… He is God.

Be careful…