sense of doubt
I'm on the worst schedule in the world again. I guess that comes from having nothing burning in the back of my brain saying "YOU MUST GO TO BED RIGHT THIS SECOND OR YOU WILL NOT GET ENOUGH SLEEP BECAUSE YOU MUST WAKE UP NO LATER THAN THIS TIME TOMORROW MORNING" in combination with adhering to the mostly nocturnal stylings of my only two human contacts on the weekend.
I've been reading a lot of "How to do this particular writing thing" articles on the web lately, and I've been brainstorming and jotting down notes in Word. Sarah gave me the idea of doing random character sketches first and it's working out pretty well. I've got three pretty detailed ones done so far and they're all colorful and satisfying. I'm kind of excited about the prospect of writing about them; unfortunately none of them is a protagonist or antagonist of any kind, and I only have vague ideas of what it might all be for. I have been feeling a real nagging need to write something and to write something longer than I usually do lately, although it's been years since I attempted anything very long at all. Even then it was more a stringing together of vignettes (it was eventually going to have a plot.. um, right) than the creation of something long and meaningful, and I only ever finished three pieces.
I've also been doing the question-asking exercise a lot, too. I get the feel of this supporting character I'm building, take a few things to their logical conclusions and then I see what I have and whether or not it suggests any thematic questions. So, this guy has some really intense fears and hates... seemingly coincidentally, those things or variations of those things keep falling on his head and creating themselves in his life. At first it's just kind of fun to poke him that way. It begs the question, though: Does concentrating on our hatred and fear of something cause it to happen to us? I like that, so I write it down and keep going, hoping I'll find some more questions like that to help me figure out what the hell I'm wanting to say with whatever this piece ends up being.
Could I possibly stay interested in a story idea long enough to produce a finished _anything_? Long enough to produce a finished novella? A finished novel? Or, conversely, could I work anything that I am that interested in into something I felt comfortable writing about? Why are the only people I can imagine showing my unfinished work to the people I most want to love it completely and unconditionally? Do I have the luxury of putting this much energy into something which does not immediately elevate me in any way when I don't even have a job? Can I live without putting this much energy into writing? Why can't I decide if producing really IS that important, or whether just living and existing should take precedence? Why can't I decide if failing to produce or moments of not caring about producing make me more unhappy and afraid?
Why hasn't the security place called me back yet?
What am I going to do with that uneaten snack cake over there on my desk?
I've been reading a lot of "How to do this particular writing thing" articles on the web lately, and I've been brainstorming and jotting down notes in Word. Sarah gave me the idea of doing random character sketches first and it's working out pretty well. I've got three pretty detailed ones done so far and they're all colorful and satisfying. I'm kind of excited about the prospect of writing about them; unfortunately none of them is a protagonist or antagonist of any kind, and I only have vague ideas of what it might all be for. I have been feeling a real nagging need to write something and to write something longer than I usually do lately, although it's been years since I attempted anything very long at all. Even then it was more a stringing together of vignettes (it was eventually going to have a plot.. um, right) than the creation of something long and meaningful, and I only ever finished three pieces.
I've also been doing the question-asking exercise a lot, too. I get the feel of this supporting character I'm building, take a few things to their logical conclusions and then I see what I have and whether or not it suggests any thematic questions. So, this guy has some really intense fears and hates... seemingly coincidentally, those things or variations of those things keep falling on his head and creating themselves in his life. At first it's just kind of fun to poke him that way. It begs the question, though: Does concentrating on our hatred and fear of something cause it to happen to us? I like that, so I write it down and keep going, hoping I'll find some more questions like that to help me figure out what the hell I'm wanting to say with whatever this piece ends up being.
Could I possibly stay interested in a story idea long enough to produce a finished _anything_? Long enough to produce a finished novella? A finished novel? Or, conversely, could I work anything that I am that interested in into something I felt comfortable writing about? Why are the only people I can imagine showing my unfinished work to the people I most want to love it completely and unconditionally? Do I have the luxury of putting this much energy into something which does not immediately elevate me in any way when I don't even have a job? Can I live without putting this much energy into writing? Why can't I decide if producing really IS that important, or whether just living and existing should take precedence? Why can't I decide if failing to produce or moments of not caring about producing make me more unhappy and afraid?
Why hasn't the security place called me back yet?
What am I going to do with that uneaten snack cake over there on my desk?