Chuck Palahniuk’s excellent essays on writing are back, after an all too long hiatus. In his January essay, he closes by saying: “And welcome to 2008, if you do nothing else in January — please — make a list of the goals you’ll accomplish in the next 12 months. Then, share those goals with as many people as possible. Please, expect more from yourself than you think will be possible. Use this year to become someone bigger, smarter, happier than you ever imagined.” Which I intend to.

It’s been almost three whole months since my last update, and to be frank, I think some of the reason behind this is that I’m reluctant to expect too much from myself. So, I figure, what better way to deal with that fear than to replace it with an even greater fear? To replace my fear of demanding more from myself and not accomplishing my goals, with the fear of public humiliation?

The first step, then, is to make public my goals for this year. If I’ve failed to accomplish a single one of them by the end of December, do feel free to rub it in my face. I actually encourage you to do so.

So, without further ado, commence utter shame and humiliation:

1: Finish a short-story I have only gotten round to writing a few opening paragraphs on, never mind writing down a whole plot outline. The story deals thematically with euthanasia, a theme that I think I’ve been putting off to deal with due to my mother’s boyfriend being terminally ill with cancer, and then eventually passed away last fall. I’ve been, perhaps, overly conscious about the fact that it will be emotionally exhausting to work on that particular subject. So, it’s about time I exorcized some demons.

2: Finish a short-story that is on paper only a paragraph long, but has been fully outlined in my head for over half a year. A small community of survivalists have been living inside a complex of underground nuclear fallout shelters for years. Not having proper protection against radiation, none have ventured outside, so as far as they know they’re what’s left of life on earth. At the outset of this story, people are getting murdered for no apparent reason, and someone is vandalizing all the equipment that makes for the underground life support. So it’s a choice between staying underground and fight an unknown enemy, risking extinction in the process, or fleeing outside and more than likely get everyone killed by radiation.

Now, this story is actually one I’ve been really looking forward to work on, so why have I been putting it off? Again, I think it’s sufficient to point to my fear of failure, of not accomplishing anything. Then flip off that fear and say: “Fuck you, I am going to do something worthwhile with my life!”

3: Finalize the first draft of a novella that’s been in fictional purgatory for over a year. Again, most of the plot is already clear to me, but I think I might have written myself into some kind of dead-end. At least it seems that way. Every time I take a look at what I’ve read, that last sentence just. Stops. In theme with the actual themes of the story, it’s time I took a giant leap of faith, and followed the somewhat anarchic theory that in order to build anew, one must first make rubble. Rubble in this sense, meaning to not be afraid to delete some paragraphs in order to unblock that particular dead-end.

4: Finalize a first draft of a novel-length text I started working on last month. The inspiration came from reading about the murder of Sylvia Likens back in 1965. What intrigued me was how so many children did nothing to help the poor girl; some even participated in torturing her. All with the encouragement and blessing of the mother in the house Sylvia Likens and her younger sister lived. Why didn’t anyone tell the authorities, their parents, or simply be the voice of reason and tell the other children that what they did was wrong?

So, I want to explore this further. One of the main characters in this story is a man who in his childhood participated in torturing and killing a young girl, and through him maybe I can get some answers. Or at least get some kind of understanding of the brutality of it all.

Being my most recent project, the inspiration for this story is still very much alive. So putting this public, I hope that this serves as a motivation to keep working. Working to finish this story and the three I’ve mentioned before.

5: Make an effort to get something published. Okay, I know that actually getting fiction published is not entirely in my hands. I am aware that — unless I finance it myself, which I can’t afford — book publishers and magazines have the final say in what they choose to put money into. But what I can do is to work towards making my stories as well-written as I can. To find themes that not only are interesting to me, but other people will find interesting to read. And last, to actually mail some manuscripts. Worst case scenario, I’ll share the faith of so many others, getting a rejection letter. And again, I think it’s that fear of failure that’s been keeping me back. But (at least at the time of writing this) I’m determined to not let that stop me. To use a rejection letter as a motivation to be a better writer. To refine the themes, to make for more interesting reading, to try and accomplish my goals.

So, there it is. Five goals for this year. Five very specific and clear goals. And looking back on them, I see that they are all very much possible to achieve. They are not affected by some external influence, and so very much in my own hands. The only thing that will hinder me from achieving those five goals is me. And only me. This isn’t reaching for the stars. This is reaching for an apple that, if I only make the effort to stretch to my full length, is well within my reach.

So here’s to a productive year!

What are your goals?

(Picture obviously extremely unrelated. But any excuse to put up pictures of cute kittens is good enough for me.)

See that picture on the left? That’s my signed copy of Fight Club; First edition, hardcover, personally signed by the man himself — Chuck Palahniuk. And I just love the personal message! Yes, you can stop bowing before me now.

Anyway, this post isn’t about me, but about one of my — if not the — biggest inspirational source.

People always ask me— No, wait… I’m always asking people, do they know Chuck Palahniuk? How I met Chuck was, well you know how it goes. Young, disillusioned male goes to the cinema. Apparently, there’s this really, really important movie now, called Fight Club. It’s supposed to be about men fighting each other and forming terrorist cells to vent their frustration at a society where it’s no longer important to be anyone — just to buy anything. It’s got Brad Pitt and Edward Norton in it. Pitt is still the pretty-boy, Norton still the skinhead. Oh, and it’s directed by David Fincher, so it’s supposed to be a really tense thriller. Enter this young, disillusioned male — me. Picture me sitting down, popcorn and soda at hand. The opening credits begin, the chaotic opening theme by The Dust Brothers, the reverse rollercoaster ride of the neurons, the gun in Norton’s mouth.

Fast forward 133 minutes. Me, along with so many others, comes out of the cinema, somewhat changed. The things we took for granted, the things we thought we’d never have the power to change— Well, it’s all looking a whole different matter now. I remember me and my friends used to talk, and talk, and talk about the movie — never tiring of the subject. There were so many layers to the story, so many ways to interpret it, Edward Norton’s voice-over was brilliant, Brad Pitt was a fucking legend, man! Helena Bonham Carter and — would you believe it? — Meat Loaf Aday broke our hearts. (And we thought we didn’t have one…) Of course, it didn’t occupy our conversation or interest all the time. But, nonetheless, it always stuck with us. It still does.

Fast forward a few years. I think it was fall 2002. Casually dropping by a bookstore in Trondheim, I was browsing the English section. And, lo and behold, there it was. Fight Club the novel. I already knew that the movie was an adaptation of a novel by one Chuck Palahniuk. I had been looking for it now and then, but to no avail. Then, suddenly, when I least expected it: There it was. Almost shouting for me to “Buy me, buy me! Read me, read me!” And so I did. After getting back to where I lived back then, I opened the book. ‘Tyler gets me a job as a waiter, after that Tyler’s pushing a gun and saying, the first step to eternal life is you have to die.’ I was hooked. Fast forward six hours without toilet break or food, only interrupted by the occasional cigarette. ‘Whispers: “We look forward to getting you back.”‘ I was exhausted. I was thrilled. I wanted more. Now!

And I got more. Survivor was thrilling, scary, funny, sad. Invisible Monsters was surprisingly hilarious, despite the gruesome setting. Fugitives and Refugees was the sort of travel guide I’ve always wanted to read, but no one ever dared to write. Lullaby was thought-provoking in numerous ways. Choke was the funnies yet. Diary sent chills down my spine. Stranger than Fiction took me to places and people I’d never get to see anywhere else. Haunted made me want to vomit.

The thing about Chuck Palahniuk is, although some would label him a shock-writer, his writing is so rich, so vivid. His words evoke such a range of emotion, from happiness, via frustration anger and fear, to heart-breakingly sad. He shows a unique understanding of humans. Wich is what makes his writing so real. That, and his incredible sense of pacing and delivery. Only rivaled by the best stand-up comedians. He is the only writer whose words have hit me in the stomach like a fist. And still, he manages to create beautiful and heart-warming (-breaking?) stories. That, and he can actually make people faint by listening to him read Guts.

But there’s more. Palahniuk loves writing, and even more he loves to share that passion with others. Through his workshops, wich are held on his fansite, I’ve learned so much about writing. Stuff that I’d never learn if I spent five years studying writing and literature. He’s shown me that writing isn’t — like some authors think — an excuse to not be with people, but the best excuse to be with people. I dare say, if I never discovered Palahniuk, I’d never (re)discover my love for writing.

Chuck Palahniuk’s gift to me is showing me the way. I now know that I want to write. There’s so many stories to be told, so many ideas to convey. And I’m the only one that can and will. For the future, I have a dream about holding my own workshops, leading the way for future writers. To show them that they too can make a difference. For me, Palahniuk certainly has.

(chuckpalahniuk.net)