It Took Me Four Months to Write a Book Description
The following is the introduction — as I wrote it in January — to my coming book, Between My Lines. I feel like sharing it publicly is apt given the nature of my writing in general: all I care about is saying what I have to say. I want to say it, so I might as well share it wherever I can.
I finished the book by February, but I haven’t published it yet even though it is currently May (the 20th as I write this). It turned out that I had a few things wrong. The content of the book is perfectly fine, but I misunderstood the nature of various situations I wrote about. The take-aways are still valid, I simply feel “wrong” myself to publish a book that contains descriptions of events that I now perceive differently. Were I to fix the book, however, I would need to write an entirely new book. I don’t want to do that: this book is valid. Rather, it is I who has changed. Thus, it has been a very difficult process to reconcile what I wrote.
Writing in general is a very difficult process for me. I feel like I don’t know how to write. Quite frankly, I can’t write. I wish it were as simple as saying “I will write for 30 minutes each day and produce a book.” Sadly, it’s more along the lines of, “I feel like writing, so I’ll write for 12 hours today and tomorrow.” I actually wrote a good 75% of this book in two days. Not that that means anything given that I did that in December and it’s now May.
At least once a week, I try and try and try to write something. A blog post. A poem. A story. A new book. It never works. I trust myself to get there in the end, but it is a defeating feeling to consistently end up like this. I have a rather large collection of poems, blog posts, and starts of books that will never see the light of day. I’m trying to capture a feeling that cannot be expressed. I suppose that’s the entire point of art and writing. To me, it feels almost pointless: I will never be able to capture this “feeling,” so there’s no point in even trying.
After numerous failed attempts at an actual story, here is an example excerpt of where I feel I go wrong:
To my chambers I go. No more are the echoes of far gone souls: now echoing footsteps mark time’s passage. And from my window I gaze out. I gaze upon the sanctum, this place called home where stars lie beneath the earth and fall to ground as rain. Where the heavens are a place so high above in which are fields of grass. I gaze upon darkness, shone in the shadow of the sun turned black. What few people I see are wandering. The gates are locked. The earth is heavy. To see the sun would bloom their spirits. Yet those below wither. I have seen the sun – both light and dark. The sun above scorches. Sets fire to the wind. The sun below blossoms. Sets fire to the heart.
I don’t want to write a story. I want to express this feeling that cannot be expressed. Yet it’s something I can’t even fully comprehend — it’s a feeling, not a thought. It’s that same expression as found in my visual work: “somewhere else,” if I had to use words. Here is another excerpt from another attempt:
The wind flowed gently through the trees. Shaking leaves whispered their sorrows. All the things the trees have seen: creaking branches, their weeping. I looked up to the sun: the dim glow offered its frown. Trees? it seemed to mock, what life on earth is worth living? The sun would know best. Its unrelenting battery is too much for man to bear. Only the trees would stand if the sun had its way. And the trees would watch the world burned to the ground.
I carried along into the setting sun. Each step towards it carried me back. No man can outrun the earth – these cosmic bodies set in motion against us. Not even the moon offers solace: to know the moon is to know darkness. As with the stars who shine down their false hopes. What wishes would we make? For anything we wish, they would twist our words into cruel reality. “I want peace,” I would beg. And they would answer: “You may know peace. We shall show you peace. You shall know it. So that we can tear it from your hands.”
If my writing has been too indirect, I’m frustrated and disappointed by this world and the people in it. Specific people, usually. That will come across in the book and stands true to this day. Nothing bothers me more than someone saying they will do something, then either not doing it or forgetting that they said they would. I never forget, and I can’t look at people the same way when they forget. How many times has someone told me, “we’ll get food some time,” then never followed up? That summarizes everything I dislike about this world and its people… that, and everyone refusing to take responsibility for their own lives, then justifying everything with “but it’s alright to be like this,” because they’ve convinced themselves they’re happy when they really aren’t.
“I have fun playing video games,” “I enjoy watching movies,” “Going to the bar is fun,” “I like partying,” “There are no adverse effects of these drugs,” “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping in,” “I’m too tired to go out today,” “But I’m comfortable at home,” etc. You’re wrong. Fun is fun, yes, but there’s a line. Escapism is the bane of the modern world. Why sit with thoughts and feelings when we can escape? forget about reality and drift off into a happier reality? A false reality. Because when the fun is over, the sadness returns. The fear, the grief, the hopelessness… we would rather lose ourselves than face ourselves, rather “have fun” than introspect. There is nothing wrong with fun. But there is a difference between fun and escape.
Anyway, here is the introduction to Between My Lines. I haven’t published the book yet because I added a section to the end, and I can’t be bothered to increase the size of the spine on my cover design — after taking four months to write the description:
How does anyone live? That is the question I’ve been faced with for nearly a year since giving up my life and career in the US to move to Iceland. The question isn’t about accepting anything or giving up on anything. It’s about taking action and living: living a life, being human, how does anyone do that?
I wasn’t happy with my life. So I gave it all up, threw caution to the wind, and moved very naively to another country with nothing but a dream and not the slightest hint of a plan. Looking back, it wasn’t the smartest decision. However, spending a month in a small town in the north of Iceland, completely isolated and alone, gave me plenty of time to think and reflect. I spent a lot of time wondering what exactly I had done. There were plenty of regrets, not just about leaving my life behind, but about all the decisions I had made up to that point.
It was difficult to accept that I was responsible for it all. There was so much I would have done differently. As is a common theme in my writing, isolation played a very large role. I always isolated myself. But it wasn’t until I was truly alone that I realized the importance of other people. I spent three months moving around Iceland before I had the chance to truly interact with anyone again. Really, it was one particular person who set off the storm brewing in my mind. That storm manifested itself as my first book – You, Man, Emotion – written as everything came crashing down around me. I had to leave Iceland, moving back to the US until I could figure out how to return. Everything was tumultuous to say the least.
That period in the US was difficult. I didn’t know when or even if I would make it back to Iceland. After giving everything up to move in the first place, I had returned to nothing. How does anyone actually live a life? It’s a tough question. Thankfully, there is the entire field of philosophy which tries to answer it. And so I read. And reflected. I’m no philosopher, nor did I “study” philosophy. I simply read and reflected. Ultimately, I was disappointed. It’s one thing to speak of how to live, it’s something else to speak of what to do.
One thing was clear: I wasn’t happy. So I asked myself what it was that I wanted. The only thing was to live in Iceland. Why? I really don’t know. Perhaps it was a matter of sunk cost. Perhaps it was just the fact that I like the country or that I had met new people there. Whatever the case, I didn’t quit my PhD and leave my life in Utah to end up living with my parents in Michigan. After a few months, I repeated my initial “mistake” and purchased my second one-way ticket to Iceland. Without any plan whatsoever. This time, though, I was a different person. And this time, it worked. I didn’t even need a plan. Everything simply happened. Because I made an effort to go out and engage with the world. I could have done more. I could have done better. But I certainly tried. Am I finally living? Maybe not entirely. Yet for starting from absolutely nothing – twice – I would say I’m doing alright.
More than anything else, what I gained from my experience is perspective and appreciation. I would dare to say that philosophy failed me. I went looking for answers where there were none to be found. What happens when we die? What is the purpose of living? How do we find meaning? What does it mean to live in the first place? Is there any point to anything? What does it mean to be “good”? Why do things happen to us? And so on. Too many questions. Too pointless of answers. None of it matters if I’m not happy.
It didn’t need to be Iceland. Maybe it could have been anywhere, even within the US. All I did was do whatever I wanted to do. And that has become my philosophy: stop caring about things, start caring about others, and do whatever you want. If you’re genuine in your efforts to be a good person, then everything else follows.
So, this book is simply a brief snapshot of “me” taken as my new life slowly came together while the year transitioned into 2024. Thoughts, ideas, reflections, stories. Whatever has impacted me in one way or another. Of course, I have no answers to anything. All I have to share is myself. I can only hope to inspire you to think and reflect as well.
If there’s anything to take away, it’s this: “So what?” What does anything matter in the end? Just live. As of today, I say that living a life means being happy. And if you aren’t happy, then it means trying to be happy. That, in turn, means being a good person, doing whatever you want, and not worrying about what happens. Be smart if you can, but so what if not? Try. All you need to do is try. You don’t need to succeed. You only need to try. What else is the point of being human? What else is the point of being alive?
Þetta reddast, as they say.
Reykjavík, Iceland
January, 2024
As an aside, if you’ve read this far, my frustrations truly come from a lack of accountability and responsibility in others’ lives. People stress out about things and complain, then do nothing to change the situation. I had a friend who needed to write a message to someone. They won’t. So, nothing in their life will ever change. The end. It’s that simple. There’s nothing more to it. I know it’s not easy. I know that what seems simple to everyone else might seem like an insurmountable task to you, but that doesn’t change the fact that some things simply need to be done. If you’re scared of the repercussions of your actions, then understand that it is meaningless. Whatever happens will happen. You can delay it and suffer for the entirety of that delay. Or, you can take the action, mess up your entire life because that terrible outcome you feared happening comes true, and then fix it. Because it’s not that hard to fix things. You simply need to take accountability.
Will you lose your job? Your friends? Your family? Your money? Your career? Your status? Maybe even your home? … So what? If you aren’t happy to begin with, what do you have to lose? You’ve merely grown complacent. You can say that I just don’t understand, but that’s nothing more than an excuse. And I’m tired of excuses. I lost it all, and look at me now: finding my way, one day at a time. So no excuses. Perhaps the joy of losing everything is finding it all again. It’s a process — life is a process — so find joy in the progress. Find joy in the pain, because the path forward from down is up:
Þetta reddast. Þangað til það gerist ekki. Þá erum við ein. Þá erum við glötuð. Aðeins þá erum við heil.