At Night...

Notoriously difficult is the writing process. Developing ideas for stories though, it can come quite effortlessly. I have about a dozen ideas for short stories and novels that are sitting on my Google Drive just waiting to be interpreted, re-written, analyzed and expounded. Time is not always at hand, though, and I find myself writing at night when I usually have a more creative mindset.

The night fuels my imagination. Probably because of its inherent connection to dreams. To the unknown. To fear. All these factors grant me the possibility of creating something fantastic.  Fascinating and even overwhelming, I find. And when I sit there at the table long enough, the words flood my pages.

Creating anything, comes with sacrifice.  Time, sleep, relationships…something must be relinquished to touch unreality properly.  At night, usually the most I sacrifice is time and sleep. I have no willingness to sacrifice my relationships anymore.  It’s not something I would do, anymore.

Insight from Mr. Robot

Started watching Mr. Robot, again. 2nd Season.

Interesting watching Elliot wrestle with this other part of himself, trying to hold it back,
to obstruct the tidal wave of electronic disaster he wishes to unleash upon the world. 

And he realizes it's futile.

How amazingly human that is, to struggle against insurmountable odds. David and Goliath
rewound and replayed with today's pristine standards.

Brutal.

What is to be left, if we choose to give up? Are we just hopeless, hapless Ronin, roaming the
countryside, hoping to be given a purpose again?

Elliot needs purpose, or else his life is just a struggle of pushing a part of himself so far
down that he smothers it. Or, maybe that's just it. That's what life is for some of us.
Starving our madness until we are deemed sane.

Is that human? All human?

His struggle against the inevitable intrigues me. As well as this esoteric portion of inner
turmoil, where we come to these glorious epiphanies about life because of what we endure. 

Because it's fascinating to see the cauldron bubbling from inside. And, most importantly, it's good for my writing.

Scratching Its Way Out

I've been working on a few short stories, hunting and pecking in my head, piecing them out inch by inch. It's great to see how much I've grown, writing. I've also been doing some Critter critiques on Critters.org.  This has helped the most because I can see just how much other writers struggle with how to express themselves. How to push out a head full of dreams on paper is a daunting errand. Some won't make it to the finish, but I intend to overcome all obstacles.

I think that immersing myself in my loves and joys has given me so much hope! My wonderful wife, lovely and sometimes frustrating children and various horror and sci-fi stories that I'm reading lend so much to my progress. I'm glad of that, for sure, as the days are dreary without them.

These short stories may be nothing. So what. Who cares if they don't hit the mark of commercial success? All I know is that I have to write them. That's all that I feel, the need to create, scratching its way out of my mind.