Thursday, March 30, 2017

Writing Whilst Growing Up

It's been far too long since I've blogged.

I can go on about how life got in the way, how I'm stuck in a job that sucks the energy from me, how I'm distancing myself from my publisher because I don't agree with their philosophy, or how I'm deciding the best route to take to finally push into adulthood. 

But, truth be told, I've been kind of lazy.

I haven't written anything since NaNoWriMo. If it wasn't for that month of peer pressure to get words down, I wouldn't even have a direction in which to channel my slowly rekindling creativity. The BarCon at Bad Wolf was great, but it only reminded me of how publishing early with a small e-publisher has put a bad taste in my mouth. It's great for some, and I'm happy to have made the connections I did while working with them, but I don't agree with anyone who chooses to limit the ways in which fiction should be expressed. Religious crusader or not, stories shouldn't be shamed. 

(...well, maybe except Twilight

Anyway, I've finally come to terms with life sucking a little as one grows older, and I'm forcing myself to get back into some form of writing habit. I took to re-reading my first ever story that I started in high school, and rewrote only a few years ago, and I found out something. 

All of the characters are insanely naiive. 

It's the same in Lucid. Devon is the only one who should be so fresh-faced and willing to do anything to be the hero. Characters should have a bit more of a raw anguish to them. Things shouldn't happen so methodically and almost too well-timed. And the funny thing is that I honestly tried to avoid all of that every time I write a story.

That's the whole thing about growing up, I guess.

Reverie is a little better. The plot doesn't move as slowly as the first book did. The characters have more relationships and sacrifices to make. And I realized that was the book written while I was on my own in Japan. 

I'm back in my little incubator in my parents' home now. And it makes me want to claw out of my skin if I sit too long and dwell on it. But until I get a decent job where I won't have to work nearly 24 hrs for a livable wage, I'm stuck here. 

That's not  to say I haven't grown up a little. Last year was hard, and I witnessed for the first time how one person can latch on to you and tear you down to a mere husk of what you recognize. Even though you should know better, you let it happen until the nuclear explosion that terminates the relationship and removes all traces of it ever happening. With that feeling, I've started to re-write the beginning of my first story and edit the novella I cranked out during NaNoWriMo last year. 

But I'm beginning to see why most authors are older. Age truly does open your eyes to better alleys and directions in which to begin stories. There's more to a story than its concept, and like a fine wine, it takes time to mature into something truly brilliant. 

So, I just want to let all of you know that I'm not being lazy. Not entirely. I'm maturing.

And you'll see it in later blog posts. 


here's a picture of my dog as thanks for reading this mess~