There are times when I still fight myself even though I know it gets me no where. I want to write better, I wish I could also plan things out and get them written easily and efficiently. I want to write better stories and not mess around with the weird things I do write about. There have been the things that have been holding me down recently. It wasn’t always conscious, just sneaky thoughts that hung out in the back of my head pulling me down. I don’t really know at what point I noticed I was doing it to myself. Suddenly, I just turned around and shined a light in a dark spot and there they were. But I knew exactly what I needed to say to make them go away.
I wish I could write better. Well that only comes with practice and work, doesn’t it? I’m at a stage now where I read writing books for reference. Everything else is experimentation for the sake of the story. I trust myself enough to be able to reason out why I’m doing something, and then to get it done if I feel it’s in line with my intent. How great I am at getting my intent across is another matter, but that can also be worked on.
I wish I was neater and more efficient. Look, self, the reason we’re not neat and efficient is because, well, we’re a mess. My brain thinks best when writing, and unfortunately I have a memory that’s pretty bad, so things only occur to me when I’m writing. I might be in the middle of writing a scene when I realize that I can add some sort of reference to the thing I’m working on later. There is nothing wrong with that. It might not be a preferred method, but since technology to remove the thoughts from my head are probably still a ways off, it’s just me and my fingertips trying to get the stuff in my brain out. Organization can come later on once we know what we’re doing. (Frankly, if there was a technology to get what’s in my head out into words, I wouldn’t use it because that would probably be even more of a mess.)
I wish I wrote different stories. This one right here made me cringe when I realized that I was actually thinking it. There are plenty of amazing stories in the world about swashbucklers and adventures and people who are strong and brave and unfailing. That is not what I write about. My whole deal is to examine what people do when pushed. Any kind of person, with powers or powerless. (Though I admit I love writing the stories of people without power in every sense.)
All week, I’ve been saying this to myself in bits and pieces. The last part came yesterday. I’ve been fully diving in since then, writing down whatever story idea pops into my head. I actually do have a lot, and for a short while, I considered a pen name for the stuff I wasn’t sure I’d want my name attached to. But then I realized that my stories are my brand. Why shy away from even the strange ones that have nothing to do with the series I’m working on? Those could be my best work– or my worst. Either way, it’ll be mine, right?