When I finished my draft on The Wrath of Con back in October, I officially fell into the creative abyss.
And no, I didn’t go bonkers. (Well, any more than usual?) I didn’t get sucked up into a fiction wormhole that scattered all sense of narrative, character and hope. I didn’t lose my way. That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s a very different kind of abyss. To make any kind of sense, I’ll have to provide...
Fun fact about me: I am interminably working on something. If I’m not outlining, I’m writing. If I’m not writing, I’m functioning as a producer for publication needs (cover art meetings, editorial meetings, press packaging). If I’m not doing that, I’m working as a publisher/business owner (strategizing, marketing, doing press, etc.) If I’m not doing any of that, I’m usually either asleep, eating, or doing my day job.
And no, I’m not whining. I actually love the work. Everything from the demands to the volume--you won’t make it an inch as a writer if you don’t love it. It’s just that simple. So yay for me.
Another fun fact: I’ve been rewriting books for the past 4 years. Zen and the Art of Cannibalism was a rewrite of a manuscript I penned back in 2012. Wrath is a rewrite of an MS I did back in 2013. Basically, I haven’t had to conjure a totally new work from the ether for the amount of time most kids go through High School.
So when I folded-closed the macbook after my last pass of Wrath, I felt something different. Something strange and scary and confusing and exciting, all wrapped up into one savory pig-in-a-blanket: I didn’t have anything I needed to work on.
YAAAY!!! FREEDOM!!! ...UH ...NOW WHAT?
See, I’ve been pulled by an invisible kind of thread for the past few years: revise, correct, produce. Meaning that when I finished Zen, I knew exactly where I was heading next. I had a backlog. Artistically, I’ve had a backlog for a while. Catching up with that is bizarre.
Suddenly, I’m not working. Before, no matter how well or poorly I did a project, I always had a safety net of work I still needed to do. Without a net, it’s kind of like my artist brain is tumbling down the Rabbit Hole. It’s liberating. It’s also daunting, because I’m super- not used to having so many choices. I don’t have a book specifically pinned-down for my next project. There’s a constant rabble in my head: “Hey, you need to figure that out. You’re not working.”; and “That’s perfectly okay. Take your time, have a little fun with your art.”
Probably not. Definitely not. One thing I’ve learned is ideas that you stick to come swiftly and unexpectedly, and it’s no use worrying about it. I’m still writing. I’m still being a writer/producer/publisher/madman.
I’ve got lots of smaller projects on the go, too: I’m about halfway through a screenplay that riffs on Gremlins and has lots of my usual antics. I’m outlining a black and white short film about love, booze, and other sad stuff. Slowly, very slowly, I’m cooking up a sci-fi detective script that I’ve already fallen in love with.
Beyond that, there are lots of ideas I’m letting simmer; not thinking heavily on what the next book will be, but toying around with certain premises. I definitely believe that keeping a bunch of unfinished stuff in your head is a good thing: even when you don’t consciously work on something, that germ can grow in dreams, be they the day-type or the night-type.
Do I feel like I’m slacking? Kinda. But it’s become clear to me this year that I kinda need that. I’m expecting a lot of smaller, weirder stuff to come blubbering out of me like Linda Blair pea soup. And before I know it, I’ll probably be behind again.
