So today was sunny, so sunny in fact that it was bearable to go outside without several layers of wooly jumpers. It was such a nice day that I decide to go on a walk, while mulling over my latest short story. I sat down and explained to an inquiring lady that I was a writer and not a student, and she seemed impressed by the idea of my story.
I finished my first draft of a novel I have been working on, which I mention in most of my previous posts, and after a few days I started to feel the creative itch and decided to write a new story. It’s currently called Fair Trade, and started off as a intriguing thought about a bath bomb that could alter the fabric of reality as well as make it look pretty.
The story has been stuck in my head for quite a while, where I usually leave it like a boiled sweet under a couch to gather bits of lint and dust to give it character. The result was a story about someone going through heart-break, and the possibilities that you could just buy something to make it all go away.
It started out as a nice story, but somewhere in the mix I decided it would be fun to make those wonderfully nice and friendly people who work in these stores into some kind of evil people, possibly monsters. It’s a lot of fun, and if you’re ever bored I recommend playing around with any ideas in your head and see what fits together.
I also wanted to talk about writing as a career, and not just a job. I have seen people who are writers struggle to want to write, taking long periods of time out, while they bash their head across their respected creative walls. Someone turned to me not long ago and told me that “I could rest now” after I shared my recent work on two novels and a boardgame. In both of these cases I am a little confused.
I do not write for any other reason other than it’s what I love to do, the fact I can get money from it is a wonderful bonus but never at the top of my agenda. Writing can be laborious and technical, which is why I have several projects ready, so I can flip from one to the other if I ever feel that the creative well is a little barren.
Weekends are for people with real jobs, people who actually work and do all the stuff that keeps things going. I’m a writer, which basically comes down to daydreaming about things and writing them down. I’m happiest when writing flows effortlessly, and I spend the rest of my time trying to get back to that state, while paying attention to things for future ideas.
I don’t really understand why you would want to stop doing something that takes you out of the existential dread, and drops you into a place with infinite possibilities? Maybe it’s just me and i’m addicted to writing, but I think that if you’re lucky and dedicated enough to go after your dreams then the only rest you need is from the people that try and stop you getting there.