The creative process is an interesting one. How it works for me is probably just as different from the next guy. If I sit to write a novel (which, I may one day, or not) the story comes to me from the beginning. I start to write it & it will break off into parts. I have to follow where it takes me of course, but the sequence isn't right. I will go back & rewrite & put things together, but I have to follow the flow.
I haven't ever outlined an idea, I have written character ideas, or sketches. None of them have ever flied, though. I have had a few really original ideas in the past. Then I wait, or stall & now those ideas have come to light in other stories. So none of it's original any more.
I'm one of those people with tons of ideas for stories, lots written down, even started, even half way done. Nothing makes its fruition, though. Except the things I write for kids.
Maybe if I air it out, tell the truth, the real deal...maybe I will be able to forward my vision. I know I am not an anomaly - I know there are plenty of people who think they can write. I think a fear of mine lies in that, fear that I can't & in the concept that I may find success. Both equally frighten me.
I have a strong will in most everything in my life. My will to write is misshapen right now, towards a more gelatin like goo. It has no real outline, it's lumpy & full of holes. It doesn't have a lively color. This is how I see it. I am a stalwart. It is purely my intention to be so. It is my doing and maybe, eventually, maybe my undoing. If I choose to remain, I will never know. That is an anvil over a huge water tank, suspended only by a tenuous thread. If I let that drop, without reshaping my will, then I will remain this way - unkempt & unfinished inside. Unknowing.
I should have written this out earlier, when it was much more alive in my head. I watched some tv & the goo, well, it's a lazy goo. Maybe I can better articulate what I am trying to say another day. Just not right now. Of course, I'm not literally articulating - not talking to myself. I do that sometimes. If I were, I'm sure my hands wouldn't be free to type, as I am also a gesticulator.
After rereading some of these posts, they feel rather, ejaculated, and prematurely. Aside from Then you Grew because that was me inspired. Some of my early posts are fully me, but still rambling. It's like I step into this blogging place & turn into a talentless goo ball, like the will to write I speak of. I dunno - maybe I have to sit at this keyboard typing for a few hours to actually produce anything remotely read-worthy. I could go ahead & post some of my little kid stories. I could, but how would that help me? How would that coerce me to move forward & reshape my ugly writing will? I dunno, but maybe I can just write something on here when inspiration hits. Maybe I can just do it here?
Some other thoughts - do good writers write down funny things they hear or think of? Do they write down extraordinary comparisons or metaphors they create or things they hear in every day life that seem they might fit appropriately in story some day? I have some things in my head, things I've heard from my own kids or people I know that I think would liven up some dialogue in a story, but I don't write it down. I may be risking losing that info, but I don't think so. For some reason, that stuff creeps into my mind when I need it to.
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