The other evening I slapped the notebook shut on a short story that was less short and less... well, story, I guess, than I wanted it to be. Especially when writing a short, if it gets out of control, I think the compulsion is to dump its ass off and forget you ever wrote it. Yet, I can't. Why is that? Duty? A need to finish what I start? No, the actual reason is that they're all in a notebook and I don't know how many pages to budget in case I want to finish it later. So practical. I considered finishing it and transcribing it, doing a bit of punch up work on it to get it to flow, or... change... something? But, on closer inspection, there was a thick layer of "horrible, poorly conceived 1950's horror movie acting" just below the pleasantly broiled "finished story" layer.
So, I just finished it and slapped the cover down on my notebook. It was a labor, my goodness gracious, and in the end it was just as unusable as I suspected it would be. I shamefully read it to my wife who confirmed with a half smile that the "wordplay was interesting" but when asked about the story, offered no comment.
I said, by way of suggestion, "It sucks worse than anything ever, doesn't it."
She blinked and offered, "Well, at least it's done."
She's right, of course... and after a little recharge time I can move on to the next project. Whew!
Even when I'm not actively engaged with the noveling action, keeping these shorts and flash pieces constant has kept me revved on the whole fiction writing side of things. Learning my own habits, my own work flow, my own methods of inspiration and organization and how they work and play together... its been interesting over the last few months. In the past work on projects came in bursts and I hadn't devised any clever methods of working on multiple things at once... instead I was shoving other ideas away after cataloging them in a text document, and forcing myself through other things, leaving these juicy ideas to sit and get stale. Stories are like bread in that sense. Granted, they need time to rise, but eat that shizzy while its still warm, dammit!
We started a writers group, here in town... its small, at the moment (less than 5 people), but its nice to be around other writers every few weeks. Around, I should say, other writers I respect for their constant writing in sub-genres. People who have something to say, who aren't writing just so they can call themselves "writers."
In other news, I bought another pen (and I recognize that this is quite possibly the most boring collection in the world next to "stamps of the world" so I'll clam up about it), I can walk pretty normally and I'm gonna go buy a new book tonight.
