Do you feel free to love the things you love with authentic, irrational abandon?

I recently had an interesting conversation about that with my younger sister. There are several fictional characters she adores, but she was a bit embarrassed by her affection for them. It was clear from the way she looked down when she talked about them, and her shy, awkward smile.

I could identify with her discomfort. I tend to be very rational and unemotional, so it can be hard for me to just let go and really fangirl over something. It doesn't help that the logical characters with whom I identify the most are often cast as villains or antiheroes, leading me to question my sanity when they emerge as my favorites.

It reminds me of a long-ago day when I went to a concert with an older friend, and watched in bewilderment as she squealed, "I'll never wash this hand again! It touched him!" (Whichever member of whichever band 'he' was; I don't even remember.)

Right then, I vowed that I would never be that crazy. In some ways, that vow has served me well; it's kept me out of some bad relationships.

At the same time, my careful aloofness cost me something. It cost me my ability to simply, freely love the things I enjoy, and to feel strongly for the things that make me feel.

Actually, it cost me a lot of my ability to feel at all.

Do you do the same thing to yourself?

Do you love something, whether fictional or otherwise, more than you're willing to admit?

And are you worried about looking silly or irrational if you let your feelings show?

A little while ago, I decided to take a leap - at least, it was a leap for me, in all my rational pride. In a Facebook group in which I hang out, I made the scandalous confession that I had a crush on one of the characters - a character, what's more, who was cast as an antagonist despite his good intentions.

And everyone was cool about it. Instead of teasing and embarrassment, I got solidarity and encouragement.

More and more, I'm learning that honesty and authenticity is the best answer. Even if you think you'll look silly. I suppose this picture says it best:

What about you? Do you have a fangirlish, or fanboyish love you've been hiding?

Is writing a skill that anyone can learn, or is it a mystical gift from genetics or the universe that only some people have?

A lot of people claim that skills they don't have stem from talent or luck that they just don't possess, and they can't do anything about it. It becomes their excuse, and they allow it to stop them from getting their story or message out there.

But while it's true that a natural inclination to write does play a part in being an author, it isn't the whole story.

If you want to know what it REALLY takes to be a great writer, you'd like to see if it's possible for you, or if you're just curious about what goes into the process of writing a book, check out the article below.

Once you've read it, I'd love to see what you think. Do YOU think it's possible for anyone in general, and you in particular, to become a great writer?

I look forward to reading your comments.

I had an interesting experience while I was making my latest music video. "Leaving Tonight" is a creepy song, from a Halloween-themed album by a band named "The Birthday Massacre".

(For my more sensitive readers, don't worry - the songs are generally much gentler than the band name implies.)

And yet, when I actually started making the video, it turned out to be more like a love story. I didn't see that coming.

It's interesting how a small tweak in the portrayal of something can completely change the way it comes across. I've seen villains who did very little damage be portrayed as major threats, evil or stupid actions painted as heroic, and improbable plotlines played with conviction... and in skilled enough hands, it often felt truly convincing.

In this case, all I had to do was portray a person, rather than a place, as the thing to which the video's protagonist wanted to come home, and it instantly turned into a love story.

Creating art can be a strange thing. It's so subjective that even when you know (or suspect) that it's objectively good, you also know that objectivity has nothing to do with it, at which point you start to ask if it's subjectively good, but that's so subjective that it's hard to get a clear and objective read on whether it's objectively subjectively good.

And then you remember that you're writing a first draft and you shouldn't even be asking yourself those questions yet.

I had a moment like that last night. I'm one of those INTJ individuals who often can't get a clear read on my own feelings without consciously trying, which makes detecting the subjective impact of my story all the more difficult. It's hard to think about what I'm writing and feel the feelings it creates at the same time.

So last night, I was typing away at the latest scene in Catgirl Roommate, during which Sam attempts to take a shower and his catgirl companion takes notice. If you've ever tried to shower in the presence of an inquisitive cat, you might be chuckling right now. Unless you're groaning. That's all subjective.

While I was writing this scene, I asked myself the same obvious question I reflexively pose every time I write comedy: Is this funny?

I kid you not, it took me almost three full seconds after asking this question to realize I was already laughing. Out loud.

I'll take that as a good sign. Of the quality of my writing, not my awareness of external stimuli. Or internal stimuli. Or stimuli in general.

If you want to render yourself oblivious to external stimuli while laughing out loud at a persnickety college student and his innocently evil feline roommate, click the button below to get your copy of Catgirl Roommate.
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