For the first time in my life, I've started writing things that I can look back on and smile-- the kind of excerpts that I would actually want to read. Slowly, I'm climbing from the depths of stagnation to heights where I can strive and improve once more. One would think a kind of thrill, as of exultation would attend my new-found determination-- but no.
Instead, it hurts. It's almost physically distressing.
I've started writing less with an axe, as though clearing a path to my goal, and started whittling, seeing where the shape of the story, so to speak, takes me. The quick thinking and finesse that requires is almost more than I have in me, and certainly more than I can accomplish well
. Further, in addition to those difficulties it's accompanied by this strange phenomena:
Writing a good story takes more honesty than it does to live with integrity. While one types at the keyboard, the ideals one thought one had waver and dance like a mirage-- one realizes that all one thought he or she stood firm on is little more than swiftly melting ice. Those ideas one thought most real, solid, and vibrant crumble in one's hands.
Again and again my own foolishness accosts me, and I face those little truths buried beneath the veneer of my character that I never wanted to know. Everywhere, in every face that peoples my visions I am crushed.
Not my most eloquent description, but I felt to go in more detail would be morbid. The point is this: I've been working on Absolute and the attendant world (with more than a little help from
, who practically co-created it all) for years. But for as long as I've worked on it nothing rang true. And I think that's because I'm not quite ready to face it. Not the characters. Not the questions it inspires. There's no way of knowing when I will be. And so I have elected to set it aside for a time.
Undoubtedly I'll still be building the world as I learn more about my own, storing ideas like acorns for such a time as the barren winter of that idea blossoms into spring. But I can't do it justice just now, no matter how I try.
Instead, I think I'll turn to Radical/Coronach. It's in more familiar territory, with more matured characters, and that should ease the burden of it. Again, that story which is most precious to me wavers just beyond my grasp, and I must turn my attentions to more pressing matters.
Ach, so be it.