Did I say three? I meant four


(Warning: the following post is incredibly angry. Continue at your own peril.)

I mean, I did have a plan, right? I had one like a week ago. What the fuck happened?

went back, that’s what fucking happened; I went back and looked at old stuff I wrote, and old stuff other people had written about what I wrote and just UGH there’s nothing like a project.

Like that old stereotype of “women want a man they can turn into a project”; everybody wants a fucking project. We want things that don’t end, things that we can bring out the best in and make better and have it all trace back to us and our efforts so we can be acknowledged and praised and adored for it and this really doesn’t fucking help when you’re trying to get something FINISHED.

So I’m sorry, all my brilliant ideas, but at least for the time being you are going to have to die.

All those “solutions”, all those tantalising opportunities to “improve” this story by going back and looking for things to recycle and re-implement – FUCK OFF. I have got a first revision of a first draft, and that is what I have to fucking work with.

Once I have done that, once I have an actual fucking plan laid-out and put into motion, then maybe some of these fantastic innovations I’ve distracted myself with concocting can come back into play. Maybe.

But in the midst of coming up with them and getting upset about not making any progress, I’ve forgotten so many things. Like the duality every artist – hell, every person in general – should embody, which is the capacity to both commit to your decisions and change your mind about it later. Like “just do it”, or in more useful terms, “just make a start”.

And most importantly, that a plan is not a contract. It’s a plan. Yes, lock it in and make a commitment, but that’s more for the sake of getting things moving than anything else. Once things get moving, everything changes. Things you thought were fantastic ideas in the conceptual stage may end up being liabilities in execution. As you go along, you may have better ideas than what you came up with in your plan.

You know what annoys me the most right now, though? What annoys me the most right now is seeing everything that’s vying for attention in my
“story” and seeing that most of it is actually, when you get right down to it, glorified filler.

What annoys me is the thought that maybe it could all work if I wasn’t so dead-set on being a morbid, gloomy asshole with every word I write, striving to elicit the maximum level of despair and languid anguish humanly possible from each item of prose I produce. Maybe if this was a dark comedy or something. Hah, there’s a thought: I could try to write something funny for a change. Overhaul the entire story and its tone and even the in-world logic because fuck knows it hasn’t been working up to this point. It’s been moving, but towards what? I’ve hit the wall and if I could bang my head against it then at least I’d know what not to do, but instead I’ve been shacked to the floor and can’t reach it to even make the attempt to scale it or break through. I haven’t just reached a dead-end; I’m not even getting any feedback to tell me that I’m in a dead-end and need to turn around.

Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s a cul-de-sac and I have to turn around and head out the way I came. Maybe I need to go back to the zero draft and make a different revision to the one I made a year ago, the one I’m working with right now.

And I guess I can’t ruin this thing any more than I’ve already done, so why the fuck not just sit down and write, and to hell with planning?

Because seriously, writing however many blog posts about how little progress I’m making and however many Word documents about what I “want” to do with this story is just stalling. It’s procrastinating that consumes energy. What the fuck kind of procrastination is that? Why not just do the actual work, and see if it’s any good?

Why not just write the fucking thing?

I’m going to write the fucking thing.

Fuck this fucking book.


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