Priorities

Sometimes I feel like the ‘S’ in this picture: striving to be focussed but not quite there.
(Picture by Nina Matthews Photography)

Working, living, writing: how it all hangs together.

Today, I want to talk a little bit about how the focus of my life has shifted over the years, particularly with relation to writing.

You may be familiar with the phrase ‘work-life balance’, but it took me a long time to really figure out what that meant; specifically, what it meant to me.

I’m naturally a hard worker. If I’m given something to work on, I’ll pick it up, run with it, fix it, and give back what I was asked to produce, with whatever improvements made sense at the time. So when I’m performing my job, I instinctively throw myself into it completely. I care. I worry. I try to fix everything and achieve the goal is set before me, whatever it is and whatever it takes. I want to do a good job, and I put all of my energy and attention into it.

When your job is what you want to do with your life, this is a good state to be in. But when it’s not, then things get complicated, and sometimes difficult. Happiness is an elusive fish to catch.

After I graduated from uni, my focus was all about finding a job so I could support myself, hopefully in a career that could see me through for a while. I wasn’t sure what that career should be (for some reason, I couldn’t find any job adverts for ‘novelist’, which was what I really wanted to do, so I had to look for alternatives), and it took several years for me to find my way to technical writing. But I threw myself into every job I got, because that’s what I do.

When I started that search for a job path, fresh out of a creative writing degree, I was also burned out with my own writing. Between that, my natural inclination towards getting stuck into a job, and the need to sort my life out, I wound up taking something of a break from writing (I fell into online RP as a stop-gap, but that’s a story for another time).

The problem with that break from writing was that I didn’t realise that I was on a break. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I was busy with everything else that was going on and the creative side fell by the wayside. I was writing a little (RP stuff, other minor little bits), and it wasn’t until I stopped to think about it that it hit me: I hadn’t worked on a novel for a long time. Years. And when you’re working full-time and snatching whatever scraps of time you can with your friends online, there aren’t many opportunities to stop and reflect on the big picture of your life, let alone make big changes.

I found myself getting frustrated. My dream of seeing my name on someone else’s bookshelf still niggled at me but I wasn’t getting any closer to it, mostly because I wasn’t really trying. I was so busy working and scraping by with everything else in my life that there wasn’t room in my schedule, energy reserves, or mental capacity to really try to do it. By this point, I had been diagnosed with CFS and was struggling to manage even the essentials to get by. There just wasn’t time or space to pause, catch my breath, and figure it all out (where’s a TARDIS when you need one?).

I didn’t really get the chance to reassess the shape of my life until I moved to Australia. It’s not so much the country itself; more, it was the disconnect from my previous life. I left behind my job, my friends, and a timezone that made online RP easy. I had to start over. It turns out that that was exactly what I needed (hindsight is a wonderful thing).

I remember talking about the differences in working cultures between countries with my dad after I got to Oz, and that elusive work-life balance thing came up. I didn’t really get it, but then he said something else and it clicked into place: “You can work to live or live to work, but you can’t do both.”

I think I had been trying to do both for a long time, and that caused me many problems. Trying to be equally invested in my work and my life outside work is hard. The two things interfere with each other; my mental energy was split between the two and I struggled to keep both afloat. When push came to shove, I put my job first, even though the job wasn’t what I really enjoyed. I was obligated; it was what I ‘should’ be doing. It wasn’t a recipe for a rewarding life.

Once I could see it, I knew that I had to make a choice.

It’s a question of focus and priorities. Everyone has to work to get by (well, most of us do), but which was most important to me? Where should my energy be? I was literally setting myself up in a new place and a new life, and it was the perfect time to reflect, redirect, and refocus myself.

At heart, I am a writer. I like my work as a technical writer (and I’m dedicated when I’m at work), but fiction is where my love is. Stories are what make my days bright. So when it comes to making that choice between working to live or living to work, I do the former. I work (hard) to have what I need so I can have the things that are really important to me: my family, my friends, and my writing. Work is a means, not the end; living with the loves in my life is my goal.

This was an important realisation for me. It meant that I looked hard at my life and the things I was doing with my time. It meant that I made a lot of changes, most of them within myself. My day-job became a tool and I started to fight to make time for writing my own stuff again.

The change in the relative importance of my work has been the hardest part of this for me. It’s not a switch you can flip. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that it’s the stuff that happens outside of work that matters most to me. It has taken a long time for me to adjust my attitude towards my job – if you were reading this blog last year, you will have seen how stressed my day-job made me – and it’s still a work in progress. I’m getting there slowly, and finding a healthier place to live where I’m not torn apart by competing concerns.

The process of disconnecting emotionally from my job has been good for me in many ways, including my health and (ironically) my job performance. My days are no longer a constant battle. I don’t let work issues drag down my mood so much any more. I’m more positive in general; the process of refocussing my energies has opened up benefits all over.

My job is still important to me. In order to do all those things that matter most to me – writing and taking care of my family – I need to eat and pay bills, which means I have to work. And that’s okay! It’s all about keeping it in perspective. When it comes to those times when I’m struggling to do everything, when something has to give, I have different criteria to help me decide what I should do. I can’t afford to sacrifice my job, but how I fit it into the rest of my life does alter. For example, taking time off to do something that’s good for me is a tactic I can use (and have done!).

I posted recently about how much I’m struggling at the moment to do the writing I want to do. It used to be that when my health was pulling me down, it was my hobbies that suffered; as long as I could work, I was okay. That’s not good enough any more. Writing may be a hobby, but it’s important enough that I have to look for an answer other than sacrificing it. I’m frustrated because it’s important to me and I know how unhappy I’ll be if I can’t do it any more.

So I look for options. I look at everything and line it all up to see what I can sacrifice. Priorities are important.

So those things that I listed in my plan for this year? Pared back. That Kickstarter campaign that I am in the middle of building? On hold. The re-release of Apocalypse Blog ebooks? Put to the bottom of my list of things to do. Weekend activities and outings? Reduced to a bare minimum so I can rest.

I’m still working full-time. I still intend to write Starwalker as often and as well as I can. I am trying a couple of things to resolve my energy issues. The other stuff will catch up when I’m doing better.

I work to live, and I live to write. I’m sorry that it took me so long to figure this out, but now that I have, there’s no looking back.

Writers’ Asylum: Post-mortem

The Writers Asylum may be crazy, but let’s keep an open mind about it anyway.

The Writers’ Asylum has been and gone. I’m still recovering – how about you?

It was a wonderful day. It got off to a rushed start for me, mostly due to traffic, but I got there in time and was sitting down and set up with five minutes to spare. Just enough time to chat to those who were there, ready for the kick-off.

There were a handful of people sitting in the in-person event by the time 10:30 rolled around – five or six of us. They got to hear my halting intro, which was an approximation of the prologue post that went up here on the blog. (Public speaking has never been my forte, but I think I managed to not make a tit of myself.) The intro was much quicker than I had anticipated, which left us with twenty-five minutes to order coffee and get distracted by random conversations.

It’s okay, I had my phone set up to warn me when the challenge time was getting close, with a variety of loud, annoying noises.

I was more worried about the turnout, though. Six people is nice, but it’s not much for an event that took me weeks to organise. I knew of a couple of people were taking part online (and there may have been more, stealthily stalking the challenge posts), however, I had hoped for a decent amount of obvious interest in the Asylum. I’d had so many people say that they loved the idea and couldn’t wait to do it, and many drop out at the last minute, so I was preparing myself for disappointment.

Luckily, that last bit wasn’t necessary. By the time 11:00am rolled around and the first challenge was rising up, there were a solid dozen people at the table. By the end of the first challenge, there were sixteen people spread over two big tables, all typing away. A bunch of that number were new faces, which was awesome (I always love it when I get to meet new people who love writing!). So, in the end, a great turnout.

The day went pretty much like clockwork. I dropped everyone into the deep end with a sexy challenge up first, and drove them through emotional turmoil for the rest of the day. Ahahahaha.

I was unsure about the goal of 1,000 words, but people seemed to hit it fairly comfortably within the hour. We had time to order food and other stimulating refreshments, and it all ticked over as I had hoped it would.

Score for me!

What I found really interesting was how different the atmosphere was compared to our usual write-ins. We were sitting in the same place, at the same time, in roughly the same setup as we usually did, but the Asylum wasn’t the casual ‘get together with writers who sometimes write and hey look at this cool thing I found on the internet and ooo let’s talk about <random topic tangentially related to writing>’ that usually happens. Once I’d done giving the challenge (I read out the prompts that went up here on the blog), a busy silence fell on the table. Keys whispered and clicked. Comments and questions were few and far between. The hush was infectious.

It was a long day, and we were all pretty wrung out by the end of it. Six challenges is a lot, and I saved the hardest for last (comedy is reported to be the hardest to write, after all). I got lots of feedback at the end, which was wonderful, and most of it positive. Seems like everyone who came would love to do it again. (One person asked me if I did this every month. I laughed and restrained myself from saying ‘HELL NO are you insane?’. I am, however, grateful to know that people enjoyed it and want more!)

Overall, I think it was a success and I’m delighted. This was an experiment for me, and I’m so happy that it worked out. But we can’t leave it there! Now I need to know more.

These are my thoughts about the day, but what I’d really like is more from the participants. Will you help me make another Asylum happen? To do that, I’d like to know:

1. What did you think of the day?
2. What did you think of the goal of 1,000 words?
3. Was 6 challenges too much? What would be an ideal number for a single day for you? (I’ve had ‘4 with a lunch break’ suggested, but am open to options.)
4. What did you think of the prompts? Were they specific enough? Too specific?
5. Did you write something unexpected?
6. Which challenge was hardest for you?
7. Which challenge did you find the easiest?
8. Which challenge was your favourite?
9. This Asylum was intended to be across a broad range of topics, styles, and genres. Should it always be broad, or would ‘themed’ Asylums be worth trying? What kinds of themes?
10. Any other suggestions?

All feedback gratefully received. If you prefer, feel free to email your thoughts to me, or just comment here on the blog.

Thanks so much to everyone who took part. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Onwards, to the next thing!

Writers’ Asylum: Epilogue

And the door closes on our day of insanity. What will it open for you tomorrow?
(Picture by thechannelc)

Congratulations!

You’ve made it to the end. You’ve spent time in the Asylum and survived to make it out the other side, stumbling, head wringing, eyes bleary, hands sore.

So how do you think you did? Did you surprise yourself after all? Did you write something for each challenge? Did you get to 1,000 words for any of them? Which one was easiest for you? Which one was the hardest? Did you write something you’ve never tried before? Did you learn anything new?

Did you have fun?

I hope the answer to the last question is ‘yes’, at least. I hope you’ve got a brain brimful of ideas and new perspectives. Maybe even some material you can use somewhere. I hope you will take something of value away from today.

Thank you for joining us. I’d love to know what you thought of the day: of the setup, the challenges, and anything else that comes to mind about the Asylum. Most of all, I’d love to know if you’d do it again.

You are released. May the madness continue, in whatever form pleases you.

Writers’ Asylum: lined up and ready to go

I was productive over the long weekend, and Writers’ Asylum things are falling into place. Look at this awesome lineup of posts:

Scheduled and ready to drop!

That was the last bit of organisation for me. All I need to do now is run the day. I’m so excited to see what people think of it all. Can’t wait!

Will you be joining in? Coming in person, or online?

Rape and other violations

I don’t often post about non-writing-related stuff on this blog, but this particular subject is cropping up all over my awareness today, and I think I’ve got something to say.

For those who haven’t come across it yet, the Steubenville rape case in America just convicted two teenaged boys of raping a drunk, unconscious 16-year-old girl, and then posting a video of the act online. She wasn’t only raped (as if that wasn’t bad enough): she was carried from party to party, paraded around, humiliated, and (apparently) urinated on, all while still unconscious and in various stages of dress. In the days following the incident, the cyber trail included pictures, the video, and a lot of chatter around how hilarious it all was.

Hilarious. Really.

I think what bothers me most is not the act itself. Rape happens – it’s not good, it’s not right, and it should be stamped out with shotguns. But it’s like murder: we have to face up to the fact that it happens, it’s terrible, and we have to deal with it. In this case, how it was dealt with is what makes it worse than a single terrible incident to me.

I’m horrified that no-one stepped in. No-one apparently thought to check on an unconscious girl at a party. Even if no-one was fucking with her, that’s not a safe situation to be in, but she was obviously in trouble.

Clearly, her friends suck. Where the hell were they? Having been in situations where I’ve had to look after drunk friends at parties (and getting home from parties and all the rest, including fending off over-attentive men), I know how important it is to look after each other. It’s fine to have a good time; it’s not fine to abandon your friends and have a good time at their expense. Ever. I don’t care how old you are: underage or not, you know what’s right and wrong (if you don’t, there’s something seriously wrong). None of these kids was ignorant about what was going on. But all of those who saw it let it happen.

Don’t get me wrong – I know how hard it is to step in. People are afraid of getting involved and stepping into the firing line, for many reasons, personal safety being one. But you don’t have to get involved to call the cops. Or to call your parents. Or her parents. Or her big brother. Or ANYONE who might be able to step in and stop it for you, if you’re too scared to do it yourself. You have options, and doing nothing is the worst (except for joining in, of course).

Then there are the excuses. I don’t care what your excuses are – about her, about the boys, about the situation – it’s rape. Rape is wrong. It is that simple. And yet there’s a whole movement trying to excuse the boys who did this. Trying to justify what they did, or brush it under the carpet (because it’s fine for football players to behave this way, apparently – I wish I was kidding). Whining about how their lives have been destroyed because they’ve been sent to juvenile detention.

No. Those boys are not the victims. They knew exactly what they were doing and they chose to do it. The girl they raped did not have a choice. Now they are facing the consequences of their actions, as they should.

Those who exposed this crime and combated the attempts to cover it up by the boys’ football coach (and probably others in the community) have been attacked (verbally/over the internet) and threatened. The town of Steubenville is defensively trying to stave off accusations about how it handled the whole affair. The victim herself has apparently been threatened for ruining the boys’ lives (???) and careers (!!!).

This case has stirred up a lot of discussion about how the victims of rape are treated, how rape is viewed, and why so many victims fail to come forward. Rape victims are put on trial alongside their rapists – this is not news, but it’s not right, either. The ‘she deserved/was asking for it’ defense is a common one. No other crime puts its victims on trial this way. It’s disgusting, making excuses for weak and cruel men, and trying to justify inflicting pain and trauma on another person.

Let me put it in another light: if the assault was physical but not sexual, are the same tactics used? No. If you beat the crap out of someone who is not a willing participant in the fight, you are fully culpable for causing that damage. Even if the victim is a habitual fighter. Even if they mouth off. Even if they’ve fought you before. If they choose to say no, then you are completely at fault. But as soon as sex enters the picture, all of a sudden it’s all right to abuse another person. Their choice means nothing. Right? No, it’s not right.

But the fear of being put on trial is not the only reason for rape going unreported, and that surprises me. It saddens me beyond belief that so many rape victims decide not to come forward (more than half don’t, according to the stats). Looking through articles, posts, and comments around this case, I’ve read that victims also choose not to come forward because they’re afraid of what their family/loved ones will do (I don’t want daddy to go to jail for killing someone), it has been a long time so there’s no point, it was an isolated incident so there’s no point…

If rape is not reported, it’s not addressed. If it’s not addressed, it will just keep happening. Should we not prosecute someone for murder because hey, they can’t murder that person again, so what’s the point? Yes, we should. They broke the law, they violated someone’s rights, they did something awful, they might do it to someone else, so the bastard deserves to be put on trial and punished/rehabilitated/reprimanded appropriately. And if we don’t talk about it, if we act like it never happened, how will it ever stop? This kind of thing isn’t going to magically fix itself. How many other people have to be hurt and damaged before someone does something to stop it?

I understand that it’s traumatic and takes incredible bravery to report a crime like this. But that’s not a reason to just let things like this happen. ‘There’s no point’ is not an excuse to stay quiet, because there is always a point.

One of the worst things we can do about this kind of thing is stop talking about it. That’s part of why I’ve decided to weigh in on this, because without dragging this out into the open, it’s never going to change. Silence is dangerous.

In my reading today, I have seen one post/article about what might have caused this to happen in the first place. It was by Henry Rollins, who I’m aware of as a musician but have never come across outside of that field before. On reading his post, I applaud his courage in speaking his mind about this. He makes points about how it’s important to understand why all those kids thought what happened was fine. It’s cultural, it’s educational, it’s social, and we need to do something about that. I think he’s completely right.

Because this isn’t an isolated incident. Rape is a big problem, and punishing the perpetrators is only a reactive response. Yes, these kids should be punished, but if we don’t look at what took them to that place, how will we prevent it from happening again? What about the kids who haven’t got to that place yet? What about the men who have grown up with a similar mentality, who haven’t raped yet? How do we prevent people from hurting and getting hurt?

It’s not an easy subject, nor a simple solution. We have to look at the psychology of rape – not just the rapists, but everyone who impacts on the situation. Sexual politics in society; the way rape is handled in the media; the way law enforcement and the legal system treats these cases and victims; the way sex education is taught in schools: every single one of these pieces impacts on our idea of what rape is and how we think about it. Some of these things put excuses and loopholes into the mental landscape, and there are many holes to plug. If we want this kind of thing to stop, we have to take a long, hard look at ourselves, our values, and the things we are pushing into our society. Then we have to do something about it.

This is where writing comes into it for me. I’m not talking about this blog, though I hope to make a difference in some – any – small way. When it comes to art, we can have a lot to say about situations like this. We can use our creations to shine a light into the dark places of our society, onto the awful subjects and the uncomfortable places. We can hold a mirror up and show the world the face it tries to keep locked in the attic like Dorian Grey. We can explore the long-term implications of the road we’re on. We can show the alternatives to the place we’re in now, and offer hope.

I’m not saying we have to do this. As writers and artists, it’s completely up to us what we believe is important to show in our work. But it’s important to know that we can.

It’s also important to know that subjects like this should be treated responsibly. Fiction (and any type of art, but particularly the easily-consumed pieces like books and TV) impacts on social thinking. It adds to the social values of the cultures that read it and we shouldn’t pretend that our work isn’t a part of the big picture.

So yes, stories that use rape irresponsibly make me angry. It’s not something to throw in randomly, with no real consequences or fallout because you want short-term angst. It’s not a fun trauma (is there such a thing?). It’s not something to make light of. Matters like this should not be trivialised. If you don’t want to deal with it, don’t put it in your story. If you use it, do it properly and with respect.

That’s my rant for the day. Responsibility, respect, and awareness of the things that are broken in the world we live in: those are the things we should take away from this mess. And then work on them, in whatever way we can.

The Asylum has a home!

This way lies madness. Or salvation. One of those.
(Picture by ark4n)

Plans for the Writers’ Asylum are coming together. The challenges are written, the day is scripted. And now, we have a venue.

From 10:30am until 5pm on Saturday 20th April, we’ll be set up in the back area of the Coffee Club at Park Road, Milton.

The challenges will also be going up on this blog through the day, so you can join in even if you can’t make it to the venue. You can also feel free to post your writing in the comments on the challenges, if you want to show off what you’ve done!

So excited about this. Can’t wait until next month! Hope you will all join me.

Challenging my brain

Look! She’s putting Superman shit in my brain!
From Adventure Comics #350, November 1966

For the past week, I’ve been hip-deep in the writing challenge morass. After realising how little time I have until the Writer’s Asylum will be upon us, pondering ideas for challenges has been sucking up my spare time. (Don’t worry: I have this week’s Starwalker post all sorted out.)

It has been an interesting process. I started off just making notes, trying to build a list of challenges that touches a lot of different subjects, styles, and themes. I need 6 challenges in total for the event: this list is both woefully short in terms of scope, and long in terms of coming up with complete challenges.

I wound up with a list of 9 or 10 themes I could potentially do. Some of them automatically shaped themselves into scenarios in my head, which made the next phase a bit easier.

The next phase was to write the challenges out in full, which has been a process all in itself. The challenges have to be general enough that the writers can take the prompts where their creative muse lead them, but specific enough to push them into an area they wouldn’t normally write in. There need to be options with guidance. Freedom within constraints. Enough information for writers to get hold of and take inspiration from, but not so much that they’re strangled by it or thrown out of the idea.

It has been fun! I’ve made up little exercises for my Creative Writing Group before but nothing on this scale. It has been a challenge in itself, stretching me into a new area. I’m writing them up in the form that I’ll probably use when I post them up on this blog (the challenges will be mirrored online, for those who can’t make it to the event in person). I’ll be reading them out at the event, which will be a scripted form of public speaking; also something I haven’t really done before (I’m an off-the-cuff kind of speaker most of the time, running off brief notes).

It’s a learning experience for me all over. I’m not sure yet whether I’ll be able to take part in the challenges (it’s cheating because I already know what they are, and I suspect I’ll be busy facilitating on the day, both in person and online). Even so, I might have a go at them before the day, just to see what happens.

I have one left to write (the hardest one, of course) and then I’ll be ready. The proof will be in the testing, though. I have no idea if these are going to go the way I think they will and I can’t wait to share them with everyone anyway.

One left. Let’s see if I can knock it over tonight. Then all that’s left is logistics! Yay!

The writing challenge challenge

Yes, this is me right now. Only I’m prettier.
This will be all of you when I get this going.
Photo of/by Clint Gardner.

Is that a mistake in the title? No, it’s not.

A little while ago, I posted about an idea I had for a day of writing challenges. It’s going to be in April, because that’s the month when I can’t hold my regular Creative Writing Group meeting. It got an awesome response! People are enthused! Yay!

I realised yesterday that shit, it’s February already. I have about 2 months to sort it all out.

Ahhh.

So much to sort out. I really need to get myself into gear and get it moving. Contact the QWC. Sort out a venue. And, mostly importantly, work out the challenges I’m going to be running.

What’s a suitable writing challenge? Hmm. I have a few ideas that are percolating, and I have started making notes and plans. I’m putting them someplace secret, so no-one peeks ahead of time. I’m thinking that I’ll need 6 in total: one per hour, from 11am until 4pm (running until 5pm to finish the last challenge).

6. That’s both a lot and not many at all. I want a variety, lots of different kinds of areas and methods. I want everyone to be able to try something they’ve never done before (or tend to avoid). I want them to be hard (like a challenge should be!). I want them to be stretching. Yeah, I want everything, in a single day, with lols and laughs to boot.

So that’s my personal challenge at the moment: finding or creating 6 different challenges. I’ve got a few in mind. Let’s see how long it takes to refine them into a challenge that writers will relish.

Oh, and the event now has a name: Writer’s Asylum. Ahahahaha.

Inconsiderate art

Photo by Dr Case

I love graffiti. By this, I mean graffiti art, not tagging. I hate tagging. I don’t get it. It’s juvenile, it’s ugly, it’s pointless, and all it proves is that someone can be a dick with a can of spray paint. It’s vandalism, straight up. It’s not art (nor is it intended to be, as far as I can tell).But the other stuff is different. I enjoy the surprise art on my way to work every morning, the splashes of colour snuck onto walls and pillars and panels. Words I can’t read, symbols that mean nothing to me personally, but it’s art. It’s colourful and bright, and far more interesting to look at than blank concrete or brick or wood. I can appreciate the skill that goes into it. There used to be a huge graffiti ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ about halfway to work, and it made me smile every time I saw it. (I was so sad when it got painted over.)

One morning last week, I looked up from my usual typing on my way to work (my train commute is when I get most of my writing done these days), and my love for graffiti trembled.

Near the stations approaching the city centre, there are a number of murals. They’re community projects and they brighten up an otherwise pretty dingy section of track. They’re well done and lovely in their own right.

We lost one over a year months ago, when a graffiti artist decided to splurge a (badly-done) word-vomit across it. Last week, the long mural that stretches the whole distance between two stations and celebrates the local creative arts got the same treatment. A large section of it is covered in graffiti now. More of it is peppered with tags. The beautiful eagle that covers an entire wall has even got a tag on it.

For fuck’s sake. There are plenty of blank surfaces around to put that shit on, and they have to go and do it on someone else’s artwork? Art that someone has gone to the trouble of getting permission to put up. Art that was done in conjunction with a school (at least one of the murals had a school’s name on it). How many hearts did they just break?

I know if it was my work, I’d be in tears. I know how hard it is to put your work – your art – out there in the world for others to see. I know how hard it can be to hear harsh words said about it, to get negative feedback. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have it just destroyed like that.

Because of people like that, artwork has been painted over and lost to all of us (the council paints over graffiti regularly with plain paint). Are they creating something just as awesome in its place? No, they’re not. Graffiti artists should aspire to be as awesome as those mural artists. It’s what they should grow up to be.

I’m astounded by such selfishness and lack of respect for someone else’s art. I’m saddened that something that brightened my day has been taken away.

Grow up, graffiti artists. Or fuck off, if that’s your attitude, because I don’t have time for you. You make me sad and angry.

Dreaming stories

Last night, I had a weird, vivid dream. It was packed with random, wildly unconnected elements, as dreams usually are, but a couple of them hung around in the back of my brain after I woke up. They decided that hey, we’re cool, so we’re staying. Oh, and wouldn’t we make an AWESOME story?

I both love it and hate it when that happens. On one hand, yay! New idea! On the other, I already have enough projects to juggle; I don’t need any more. But on the third hand, it has taken up residence in my brain and wants to get out.

I’m all up-to-date with Starwalker, so I decided to let the dream run wild this morning. I ticked over the idea as I got ready for work, and by the time I was sitting on the train with my netbook out, I had a place to start writing. I’m partway into a short story now and thoroughly amusing myself with it.

The scary part is that I could do a series of these shorts stories, maybe tie them all together into an anthology… yes, I’ve already spun out dream-fired snippets into an anthology’s worth of stories. Not in any detail but the potential is definitely there. I am both cheering and facepalming at myself. I even have a name for it.

This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me often. I’ve had dream-inspired pieces happen before but it’s fairly rare; I’ll be posting soon about the genesis of ideas and stories, and dreams aren’t on my list of sources. I might draw inspiration from them in a general idea-soup kind of way, but the ‘wake up and must write’ thing just doesn’t happen very often.

The last time was back in November, which prompted an abortive short story. It was creepy and fun, but the concept wasn’t formed enough to write and it petered out before I figured out where it was going. Maybe one day I’ll go back to it and finish it up.

This one is different. I think I know where it’s going and what it needs to be. It has scope for creepiness and some tongue-in-cheek playfulness, for raunchiness and a touch of horror. So far, there are vampires (possibly because I’ve been watching The Vampire Diaries lately), an orgy, some goth wannabes, and a viewpoint you don’t get to hear from often: random nameless victim. The viewpoint appeals to me because, while I enjoy the fantastical and speculative aspects of fiction (I’ve written scifi, superhero, and fantasy fiction), I’m also interested in the effects is has on those on the edges of the story. Regular people are fascinating creatures.

I haven’t forgotten about everything else I want to write this year. This is only a short story, so maybe I’ll keep poking at it for a little while longer. See where it takes me; see if it runs out of steam or drags me along to the end.