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lynatiAnd it got me thinking on the nature of “fic”, that is, not just the writing but the whole process- how we create or build on these characters, how they become our own; voices in our head, figures winking from a sketch pad. They live on our minds and yet remain, for the longest time, mysteries even to us.
And they consume us. Yes, the sotires go forward as we go forward- we have to. Life doesn’t stop, and our own lives speak to influence the inner worlds. Tomorrow isn’t yesterday; next week isn’t two years ago. All we can do is our best to capture their stories, mark them down on paper- no matter how long after the fact of their invocation. Sometimes it becomes too much- you are too busy living 600 lives to live your own, and you are caught between what you owe them and what you owe yourself. I can understand- even though I regret the loss- of why great writers like Cyrway and Stormy have left off their worlds, whether for other genres or for the Real one.
Me, I happen to owe my life to mine. I shit you not, I wouldn’t have made it to high school without them to distract me at the least, and at the most, to give a painful, empty life some patina of meaning. So, while there are times I want to stop, I never can give up on them. And I think they understand that. At least in my head, they are willing to give me privacy, to leave them alone and come back when *I* feel the want to.
Nobody wants to be forgotten.
They want their stories told too, no matter how painful or tragic the tale, and living as they do in our own minds they understand the need to take a break. Some of them even appreciate the down time- and the fresh outlook with which we return to the crafting of the world.
Myself, I’m stuck right now. I can’t seem to go forward, but it’s hard to wedge myself back into the mindset that I was four years ago when I started Arc three- the main arc- of gargoyles, and the base for all my current work…and I know I can’t go forward without finishing up that part of the past. And I mean that both for the writing, and for my own non-fic-related living.
I used to have a couple partners in this, at different points in time- they were both excellent for talking to; they’d ask a question about the world, and you’d find an answer there that you hadn’t even *realized* until that moment. Sadly, I’m not on speaking terms with one of these anymore, and the other is too occupied with his own life for fic chatty any more. It feels like a hole, and all my energy and interest in the project is draining away while my characters look on and scowl at such a minor thing wasting *their* livelihood, and yet I can’t break free.
“…I can’t let it go, and I can’t get through…” ...as she said.
This ramble is the first time in months that I’ve been able to sit down and just write. Partially I think it is my living situation. There is an Eskimo saying about “food is sleep, and sleep is food”. Likewise, one finds the baggage of in-organization of the physical world often intrudes on the ability to work cleanly in the world of the abstract- the fic. I’ve been putting my apartment into order, packing for the upcoming move, and I’ve found that finally sorting out half of the boxes full of papers that needed to be sorted (which have been piling up for two years now) has helped open my creative center. I did my first drawing after a couple weeks of dead air last night. I re-organized the cabinet and shelves with my art supplies, and find myself thinking on TGS again.
“…Both hands, now use both hands- no don’t close your eyes…”
You put your outside distractions in order- if you can- and they no longer impede. You wait for inspiration to strike, and in the meanwhile you work on the technical aspects- re-edit old fic. Figure out the pasts and present of minor character, if they present an interesting target. Don't force it, but when it comes: run with it.
“…and I’m recording our history now on the bedroom wall…”
Or take time off, and go do something interesting- I guarantee there is nothing like finally getting time to yourself that will flick Murphy’s switch and make your head-people wake up and become active. Music can help, too, if you can’t find-or don’t want- someone to talk to. And don't worry about doing things strait in order, or contradicting yourself- it will sort itself out down the road. As long as you keep walking you- and the world within- will be fine.
We don’t control their fates so much as channel them for their core existence- ever have something horrible occur to you that happened to one of your main players, only when you tried to write it another way, it just didn’t work? Most of us don’t sit at the keyboard, chortling with malicious glee as we try to think up ways to make their lives suck. (Although, there are some authors out there who seem to revel in doing it with their grammar alone…) We are the directors of the show- the characters author their own fate, to a degree. Not that we are entirely without control, but honestly- you ever try to herd cats? The story will go the way it wants to no matter how happy we try to make it, like a great river returning to its courses. Also, keep in mind that stories *end* with “happily ever after” – if there is no angst, no Plot, there is no interest...and nothing worth writing about.
“…I am drawing the story of how hard we try…how hard we try…”
I hope this helps.
And they consume us. Yes, the sotires go forward as we go forward- we have to. Life doesn’t stop, and our own lives speak to influence the inner worlds. Tomorrow isn’t yesterday; next week isn’t two years ago. All we can do is our best to capture their stories, mark them down on paper- no matter how long after the fact of their invocation. Sometimes it becomes too much- you are too busy living 600 lives to live your own, and you are caught between what you owe them and what you owe yourself. I can understand- even though I regret the loss- of why great writers like Cyrway and Stormy have left off their worlds, whether for other genres or for the Real one.
Me, I happen to owe my life to mine. I shit you not, I wouldn’t have made it to high school without them to distract me at the least, and at the most, to give a painful, empty life some patina of meaning. So, while there are times I want to stop, I never can give up on them. And I think they understand that. At least in my head, they are willing to give me privacy, to leave them alone and come back when *I* feel the want to.
Nobody wants to be forgotten.
They want their stories told too, no matter how painful or tragic the tale, and living as they do in our own minds they understand the need to take a break. Some of them even appreciate the down time- and the fresh outlook with which we return to the crafting of the world.
Myself, I’m stuck right now. I can’t seem to go forward, but it’s hard to wedge myself back into the mindset that I was four years ago when I started Arc three- the main arc- of gargoyles, and the base for all my current work…and I know I can’t go forward without finishing up that part of the past. And I mean that both for the writing, and for my own non-fic-related living.
I used to have a couple partners in this, at different points in time- they were both excellent for talking to; they’d ask a question about the world, and you’d find an answer there that you hadn’t even *realized* until that moment. Sadly, I’m not on speaking terms with one of these anymore, and the other is too occupied with his own life for fic chatty any more. It feels like a hole, and all my energy and interest in the project is draining away while my characters look on and scowl at such a minor thing wasting *their* livelihood, and yet I can’t break free.
“…I can’t let it go, and I can’t get through…” ...as she said.
This ramble is the first time in months that I’ve been able to sit down and just write. Partially I think it is my living situation. There is an Eskimo saying about “food is sleep, and sleep is food”. Likewise, one finds the baggage of in-organization of the physical world often intrudes on the ability to work cleanly in the world of the abstract- the fic. I’ve been putting my apartment into order, packing for the upcoming move, and I’ve found that finally sorting out half of the boxes full of papers that needed to be sorted (which have been piling up for two years now) has helped open my creative center. I did my first drawing after a couple weeks of dead air last night. I re-organized the cabinet and shelves with my art supplies, and find myself thinking on TGS again.
“…Both hands, now use both hands- no don’t close your eyes…”
You put your outside distractions in order- if you can- and they no longer impede. You wait for inspiration to strike, and in the meanwhile you work on the technical aspects- re-edit old fic. Figure out the pasts and present of minor character, if they present an interesting target. Don't force it, but when it comes: run with it.
“…and I’m recording our history now on the bedroom wall…”
Or take time off, and go do something interesting- I guarantee there is nothing like finally getting time to yourself that will flick Murphy’s switch and make your head-people wake up and become active. Music can help, too, if you can’t find-or don’t want- someone to talk to. And don't worry about doing things strait in order, or contradicting yourself- it will sort itself out down the road. As long as you keep walking you- and the world within- will be fine.
We don’t control their fates so much as channel them for their core existence- ever have something horrible occur to you that happened to one of your main players, only when you tried to write it another way, it just didn’t work? Most of us don’t sit at the keyboard, chortling with malicious glee as we try to think up ways to make their lives suck. (Although, there are some authors out there who seem to revel in doing it with their grammar alone…) We are the directors of the show- the characters author their own fate, to a degree. Not that we are entirely without control, but honestly- you ever try to herd cats? The story will go the way it wants to no matter how happy we try to make it, like a great river returning to its courses. Also, keep in mind that stories *end* with “happily ever after” – if there is no angst, no Plot, there is no interest...and nothing worth writing about.
“…I am drawing the story of how hard we try…how hard we try…”
I hope this helps.
