Absentee Creative Activism

Picking up is the name of the game.  Although that makes it sound simple when you stumble. In reality it is a lot more like a game of 52 Card Pickup.  I slacked slightly in blogging, and have had a couple of set backs in my job searches.  All in all it's been a slightly frustrating few days.  This doesn't mean I haven't been working (isn't dreaming sometimes working?) (yes, but it is also an excuse) on A.N.  I have.

There's a technological aspect of the story I had to deal with; I've been blatantly ignoring it.  It is a necessary component to the final act, however.  In general terms, I knew what it was and how it worked, but I hadn't mapped out specifics because in my heart-of-hearts I was desperately afraid that exploring the ramifications of such a large technology would completely unwind the story I was telling.  It's cowardice, but after so much work, having to scratch your tale because you didn't really think something through is paralyzing.

Truly, I could write a whole "idea story" based just upon this tech, but it's a background piece to what is actually happening.  So one of the days I didn't write, when I couldn't get myself to the computer to plink our more draft fixes, I sat and mapped out what I lovingly refer to as "the HUB."

Any guesses what happened?

As I explored the idea - how it came to be, how it is continuously used, the division within the departments that monitor it, etc., I found all sorts of really cool details that didn't destroy my story.  On the contrary, they helped it make more sense.  I honestly didn't expect that.  The background I found in my technology allows me to go back through the story and foreshadow the final act in a much more organic and satisfying way.

It is moments like this that make me love writing.  There are moments when you're not sure if your subconscious is a genius who sees things way before dumb-normal-you does, or if there are muses floating around out there who blast you in the face with inspiration once in a while.  Any writer (any artist probably) will tell you there are times when things just burble up and you're not sure where they even came from.  I look at a passage I wrote and am blown away; please understand this isn't ego, instead it is a sense of awe.  A strange sensation where things you had never thought of burst from you, and words ink themselves on the paper of their own accord.  It's like touching the sun for a very brief moment.

That happens like, 2% of the time for me.  The other 98% is forcing myself to just work through, write and rewrite until it shapes up.  But man the high of those 2%s.

Anyway, my resolution here is to pick up the deck of cards and push toward my goals again.  Enough failures and you'll find a success.