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Archive for March, 2014

Oops.

Well didn’t I just get sidetracked.

Since setting aside The Edge as complete some weeks ago, I’ve been working on The Way. As I said at the beginning of the year, my intent has been to finish things before moving on to something else. Funny how that doesn’t always work.

In spite of helpful input from my writers’ group, and in spite of how much I love the characters, I’ve been really stuck on The Way. I’ve been – horrors! – bored with it. I’m not sure I’m telling the right story. I’m tired of working on the same scenes over and over again. So, while bored and stuck, I went through my Yarny file in search of amusement.

First, I reread The Edge and declared it complete. I’ll be submitting it shortly.

Second, I found two things. One is an incomplete short fic (The Doctor’s daughter) that was startlingly much better than I remembered. I posted it on whofic (http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=54298) and already have encouragement to finish it. The other is a nearly-complete original story. I was really surprised by how not-sucky it was, considering I gave up on it so long ago I didn’t remember it at all. I’m going to pull it together – it doesn’t need much – and maybe submit that too.

So in spite of my intention to finish The Way once and for all, I may be finishing some other things first. With luck, I’ll have fresh eyes for The Way afterwards. I really do want to finish it; I love the characters, I want to tell the story, and it’s so close! But maybe it just needs more space.

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Urg

Warning: Mild profanity ahead.

From time to time, one comes to a place of questioning. The question is, what the fuck am I doing?

It’s a common question among ‘artists,’ or ‘creative types,’ or even ‘slackers,’ however we define ourselves. I’m working on this project (story, piece, whatev) and then I hit a wall. I suppose some might call it writer’s block. Others, existential angst. Or occupational futility.

Art, writing, creation, all this is necessary. At the same time, it is inherently self-indulgent and useless. It accomplishes nothing (material). It serves no (obvious) purpose. It’s just making stuff because you want to. No one else cares.

Hence, the question.

I finished Dreamscapes. I came back to it, hated it, took it apart, put it back together, threw up my hands in frustration, gave up, started over – and then suddenly had something I was really happy with. I did the same thing, more or less, with The Edge. Now I’m in the middle of the process with The Way (I fucking hate that title but I don’t yet have a better one). Everything looks familiar about it; I know I just have to keep going and all will be well on the other side. In the moment, however, everything sucks and what the fuck am I doing.

That’s all. Nothing has changed; we ebb and flow and back up and erupt and ebb and flow again. But the backed-up part really kind of stinks.

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