Yeah, that's right - preggers! I realized that something was just not right when got the first kick a couple of weeks ago that told me a story idea was coming. Usually I have a semi-solid idea for a story before I start writing, but not this time. My hindbrain was telling me that there was a story waiting to be told, but I didn't know what to say, let along how to say it - more like not being able to articulate the vague feeling of a concept lacking concrete form struggling for life.
How do I deal with something I can't express, can't describe, can't turn from a feeling into something - anything concrete? It is so frustrating. When I try to write it down the words don't fit, they lack energy, and refuse to hold my interest for more than a paragraph or two. Attempted outlines dissolve into mere lists, scenes are in disarray, characters unresolved at all levels and the environment, the world, the universe - unformed - NO! Unformable is more like it. Damn, no matter how I try I can't seem to write my way out of the box, or even define the size and shape of the container much less its content.
So I blather on and one, writing this, thinking of that, wondering about one thing or another and all the while the untouched works lay there in the back of my head, glowering, demanding attention I cannot provide even as I know that I have to get this idea, whatever it is, out of my subconscious and into the part of my brain that deals with story. Meanwhile, I struggle,writing other things to fill the time.
But the feeling persists, this vague menacing thing that haunts me through my days, that intimidates but never threatens. Can I terminate it or should I continue to struggle to give it birth?
Even the Nebula weekend failed to quell my unease and the promise of a collaboration merely pushed it further into the background, whispering promises of what might come after.
Ever "after."
How do I deal with something I can't express, can't describe, can't turn from a feeling into something - anything concrete? It is so frustrating. When I try to write it down the words don't fit, they lack energy, and refuse to hold my interest for more than a paragraph or two. Attempted outlines dissolve into mere lists, scenes are in disarray, characters unresolved at all levels and the environment, the world, the universe - unformed - NO! Unformable is more like it. Damn, no matter how I try I can't seem to write my way out of the box, or even define the size and shape of the container much less its content.
So I blather on and one, writing this, thinking of that, wondering about one thing or another and all the while the untouched works lay there in the back of my head, glowering, demanding attention I cannot provide even as I know that I have to get this idea, whatever it is, out of my subconscious and into the part of my brain that deals with story. Meanwhile, I struggle,writing other things to fill the time.
But the feeling persists, this vague menacing thing that haunts me through my days, that intimidates but never threatens. Can I terminate it or should I continue to struggle to give it birth?
Even the Nebula weekend failed to quell my unease and the promise of a collaboration merely pushed it further into the background, whispering promises of what might come after.
Ever "after."
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