I had these lofty expectations when I started this thing, I think. I was going to write insightful crap about my journey as a writer, share my experience with all of you, and leave a record of the path of one aspiring writer on his way to stardom- or wherever this train goes.
Turns out, that’s hard work. So, I’m going to try something different.
When I have time to myself to think- usually, daydreaming while driving to work, or waiting in line in the cafeteria for lunch- I really want to be thinking about my books. Keeping my characters straight in my head, devising new ways to tortu- I mean, “challenge them to grow”. Binding disparate plot threads into something coherent. Working out the necessary jokes that never come in the middle of the writing process. That kind of thing.
What happens instead, is that I dwell on whatever stressful has been bothering me lately. Usually work stuff. I let that spin around in my head, accomplishing nothing, getting me frustrated, and pushing out any hope of accomplishing something creative. And then I feel bad about wasting that time, which is something new to be frustrated about. It’s really no fun.
So, there’s a way to get that crap out of my head: through my fingertips. If I write the stuff that’s bothering me- write my opinion on Japanese overtime, or my frustration with trying to bid out a pamphlet while the government decides to change the bidding rules mid-process, whatever- then maybe it will leave my head free for more important things. And hey, maybe it will help some other poor sap in the future who has to navigate their way through seeking bids for a project whilst working for a Japanese governmental organization. Probably not, unless they go for schadenfreude.
And no, there is no way in hell I was spelling “schadenfreude” right the first time without a dictionary.
So, that’s what I’m going to try. I’d worry about driving away my readers by boring you with day-to-day life stuff, but since I’m not posting anything now because I can’t get said day-to-day stuff out of my head, there’s really nobody to drive away.
And while I’m at it, maybe, just maybe, I can find my Voice. I’ve stressed so much about following all the writing rules, especially with my novels, that I’ve completely lost hold of that black humor that used to flow through most of my conversations and stories. If I write without restraint, I’m hoping it might just come back.
Please come back. I have coffee. Irish coffee.
Too forced? Meh. Fake it til it’s real, right?