I continually wonder if something wonderful figuratively lies over the next river, on the other side of the ridge, beyond the mountains, or across the sea. Rather than stay the course on developing a long novel I find that I have a thirst for the unique, the novel, the different in my stories. This must be the same urge that drives me upon the near-completion of one story to immediately seek the beginnings of another.
The itch to set out on a new course usually manifests itself at the threshold of completing a story and builds until my obligation to that piece is finished and the story submitted. As I've mentioned before, I always have that horrid post-submission feeling that if I had done just one more thing... But that impulse to revisit soon passes, at least until the rejection arrives.
Any completed story leaves me with the abandoned (but only temporarily, you understand) unfinished short stories and novels doomed to never reach a conclusion. I rummage through the midden and despair of finding their missing parts, whose missing-ness caused me to temporarily set them aside. This makes me uneasy, fretful, and nervous.
So in this interregnum I flounder, desperate to find any spark that I can turn into an ember that might ignite the creative blaze. I examine the ideas that always buzz through my mind and find that none have that magic spark that screams "This is the one, Bud. Write like the wind, unfettered by convention, kicking aside the troupes and baggage to blaze a new trail across the genre." At this point I worry that I have become a washed- up hack and only if I can find another mountain to cross I will be happy. If I don't I'll become hyper-stimulated, doing everything and anything except sitting at the keyboard and writing something.
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The itch to set out on a new course usually manifests itself at the threshold of completing a story and builds until my obligation to that piece is finished and the story submitted. As I've mentioned before, I always have that horrid post-submission feeling that if I had done just one more thing... But that impulse to revisit soon passes, at least until the rejection arrives.
Any completed story leaves me with the abandoned (but only temporarily, you understand) unfinished short stories and novels doomed to never reach a conclusion. I rummage through the midden and despair of finding their missing parts, whose missing-ness caused me to temporarily set them aside. This makes me uneasy, fretful, and nervous.
So in this interregnum I flounder, desperate to find any spark that I can turn into an ember that might ignite the creative blaze. I examine the ideas that always buzz through my mind and find that none have that magic spark that screams "This is the one, Bud. Write like the wind, unfettered by convention, kicking aside the troupes and baggage to blaze a new trail across the genre." At this point I worry that I have become a washed- up hack and only if I can find another mountain to cross I will be happy. If I don't I'll become hyper-stimulated, doing everything and anything except sitting at the keyboard and writing something.
Like this article.
#SFWApro
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