Over the last two months, I haven’t written much new. As far as fiction goes, practically zilch. I’ve been editing like a sonuvabitch (see below), and there has been some new content involved with those revisions, but it’s not the kind of writing that I consider “new material.” I’ve written some book reviews and a CD column, but no new fiction.
It hasn’t been for a lack of ideas or inspiration. In fact, the ideas have been backing up on me. I have a bunch of little files for stories that contain the idea, title, opening paragraphs, etc. that I’ve jotted from time to time during my travels, but I just couldn’t seem to get up a full head of steam to flesh these out into the stories they would some day become. It wasn’t writer’s block–I’m not sure such a thing really exists–so much as life block. Too many other thoughts flowing through my head to concentrate.
Last night I decided to get started on a story that I want to submit to the contest that’s being run in conjunction with World Horror. I had the idea, knew the character, had a vague idea about the plot and incidents therein, and figured it was time to take the leap. I wasn’t 100% sure I was ready, but I would know very shortly after sitting down at the computer whether I was or not. I carefully selected the music I wanted to listen to while writing. I wanted something ballsy and angry. I scanned down the stack of CDs that sits on top of my rolltop desk and my eyes settled on the perfect choice: The Final Cut by Pink Floyd. It has a couple of my favorite PF tracks (the title song and The Fletcher Memorial Home, as well as the forever memorable Not Now, John, which has more f’s-per-minute than any other song that springs readily to mind.
At the end of a 1-hour session (I planned to take a break to watch The Amazing Race, I had over 1000 words. 1234, to be exact. I got back at it again this morning, and I’m now over 2800 words into the story. At least halfway done.
Man, does it ever feel good to be creating again. The story will probably take a few good rounds of editing once I get done with it, but I can’t stop thinking about it right now. After I finished this morning, at a point where I thought I needed to stop to let more of the story gel in my mind, I found myself writing on in my head while I was in the shower. I love it when that happens.
In addition to this story, I have three “flash fiction” stories on the burner. Flash stories are short, though the exact definition varies by market. All of the ones I’m working on will be 600 words or less. I always enter the flash fiction contest at World Horror, where we read our stories out loud in front of a panel of judges under a very strict (3 minute) time limit. It’s a lot of fun. One year, the emcee introduced each writer and then launched us with a rousing “read-like-a-sonuvabitch.” This is a genre where the poets and prose writers often meet, since flash stories are almost prose poems, and I enjoy the format because you really look carefully at every single word to see if it belongs there or not. The cost of a sentence can be as much as 20-30 words, so you might get 20-30 of those in a whole story.
And if I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight
And if I open my heart to you
and show you my weak side
What would you do
Roger Waters, 1983
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