I have to finish this stupid werewolf thing I promised myself I would finish it I used to feel so excited about it I owe my long-dead sense of excitement the fulfillment I decided in the heat of the moment I owed it otherwise I am an immoral flake unworthy of love who cares if I don’t want to do it anymore it’s probably just because I haven’t been doing it for ages and need some extra momentum it can’t be that I could actually just go do something else and it would be no big deal because I promised and you have to keep promises that’s what promises are forget your own feelings or desires or changes in circumstance that require adaptation if you promised to do something then you have to do it that’s what God said and God is WHY CAN’T I JUST FUCKING MAKE THINGS WORK THE WAY I WANT THEM TO
Here’s the thing: I do want to write this werewolf thing through to completion. But early on I lost the drive, and only got it back when I started thinking about a potential sequel that would “make things more interesting”, and in order to get to that sequel I had to write the first book so that it made sense. Well right now I’m sick of that rationale, that utilitarian “motivation” that is less motivation and more justification, doing something for the sake of some other thing rather than for its own sake. Which is what made this werewolf thing so wonderful: I was doing it for its own sake, it was basic as fuck, really unoriginal, really un-interesting, and it was working. It was getting written.
Guess I’ll be drafting after all.
I had hoped to just rush through it at top speed and not give a fuck about editing or revision – and I’m going to keep to that. But what I’m also going to do is just kinda pretend that some of the stuff I wrote never got written, which is easy enough to do, because most of my plot-centric ideas are distributed neatly throughout individual documents rather than clustered together, making editing more difficult. I think I’ll just do that and hope that it works.
This story was never meant to be interesting or well-planned out; it was meant to be spontaneous and derivative, a test to see how fast I could create a story and still make it coherent. At no point was this story being good on the agenda, just solid. And I definitely lost sight of that. And I miss it.
I’ve been in Malaysia for the past 7 and a half days, and haven’t written anything other than a couple of blog posts during that time. It was great. I am so glad that I went. I am happy to have traded some writing momentum for such a life-changing experience.
Now I’m back home though, and it’s time to get back to business. Tallulah is always in the background, continuing to transform as well, into something more like a story than it currently is. Other stories I’ve been struggling with are coming back to life. It’s all been because of this werewolf project, and I know that if I make myself persevere with its original function, allow it to be limited to the mental bandwidth reduction I’ll be working under as a result of writing fast, apolitically and uncritically, those stories will only get better, become more accessible. Hell, even my ungainly Realm of the Myth is starting to take a more coherent shape, not just the Nanowrimo re-imagining but the original, super-iterative version that I gave up on after about a month when I was 14 years old and writing self-fan-fiction without even knowing what that was. I’m starting to allow myself to have ideas that I haven’t allowed myself to have since I was 13, just getting myself involved in the world of writing and indulging in every silly, exciting notion that popped into my head. A lot of it didn’t go anywhere, because this was before I started trying to discriminate between story ideas and idea-ideas, but I think I’ve learnt that lesson well enough, at long last, that I can go right back to indulging all over again. It’s all just starting to click.
And I know that it’ll click even more if I make myself finish this werewolf thing. I know it. And it’s worth it.
I just hope I can keep focused and not get distracted by my pesky morals and principles and beliefs and shit. What true artist needs those, amirite?