I’ve decided to start a add another element to this blog. Writing Wednesday’s.
I’m not an expert on writing. Some will say it takes a certain amount of hours or words written, but I’m not sure about that. I believe that someone can become a great writer. Maybe even me, someday. But writing is such a subjective, living thing, that I’m not sure any one person could be an expert. That someone could say with certain that a story will never be good, or write something they know, without a doubt, will be an instant hit. Audiences change. People change. Desires change.
While I may never be an expert, what I am, is a writer. I write. So, I’ve come to think I know a thing or two about the process. Or, at least, about my process. I’m going to try to discuss something about the actual act of, or my experience with, writing every Wednesday.
This week there has been something on my mind: FEAR. Honestly, writing is terrifying. It’s also exciting and manic inducing, sure, but at first, it’s downright scary.
I’ve just started on a new project, and I’m in the process of mapping out all the twists and turns. I like to write with a plan. This book is being planned as a serial. I’m trying to construct a story, the large overall arch, that has at least four other complete stories within it (that somehow, even in their wholeness, need to end on a cliffhanger), and at least one of those legs will have two stories in it. Basically, I’m writing four stories in one story, that also have parallel stories going on. I think my head just exploded a little. In addition, there’s not time to build things up, to do a slow reveal, because serials have to grab your attention and keep it, not just through the course of the story, but through, to the next story, to make you want more. Eek.
Another intimidating factor is that this story is a much harder scifi then I’m used to. Most of my stories, despite genre, take place in a modern day kind of world. Not this one. It’s super techy, in the future, craziness. Except for the tribal people, which are super opposite, nomadic types. There’s a lot of contrast. But more difficult is imagining a bunch of things that don’t exist, explaining them, and making them seem credible.
Just thinking about this book makes me want to scream, throw covers over my head, and hide from it. It’s too big. It’s too hard. But that’s why I have to do it. If it didn’t take a piece of my sanity to write, then it’d be boring. If it wasn’t a challenge, then finishing it wouldn’t be an accomplishment.
So, I’m not going to let my fear control me. It will not chase me from this project. Instead, I will get mad, slap it around a little, and tell it to behave. I’ve stuck this story in a head-lock, and I have most of an outline. Now, I can settle in, and finishing taming the beast.