nothing ever happens to me (yet)
Jul. 25th, 2012 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anthimeriaMy job, y'all. ARGH.
I've gotten very minimal writing done in the last month (lordy, has it been a month?). Five hundred words here or there, occasionally pounding my head against Skywatch's synopsis. I'm just so tired, all the time.
I have managed to do some work on the background for the sequel to Skywatch, which has Julien as the main character (the plan is three books, one each for each of the three primary characters, Eshe, Julien and Sanya). I'm very near the outlining stage, but I keep thinking of things I need to know before I hit the outline. It's been too long since I started a book from scratch, for real--I did the outlining for the werewolf book a year before I started writing it, and I didn't do a proper start for Horizons since I was trying something new (which didn't work, alas). It's lovely to stretch those muscles again, but it's increasingly clear that I'm out of practice.
In anecdotal news, I've recently had reason to think about a sort of strange, genre-fan reaction I have, and I'm wondering if anyone else does, too.
We all know how many stories in speculative fiction (and mystery, adventure, and thriller, come to think of it) start with an unassuming, innocent protagonist who gets embroiled in something beyond their ken. They invesitgate the strange noise. They look out the window when someone screams. They notice the cardboard box that crosses the road against the prevailing wind.
My natural inclination in all of those situations is to leave it alone. I'm not inclined to see what's making that oddly hollow banging noise unless it's obviously threatening. But then I remember all those stories that start with the person who looked, who discovered, who noticed, and I think, well. It's probably nothing. It might be something terrifying.
It might be something wonderous.
Could I live with myself if I missed my chance to see Narnia, or take a ride through time and space in a blue box, just because I didn't get up and go see?
Of course, I'd never know if I missed the Doctor, or a ghost, or a fey without their glamour. So sometimes I dismiss it and go back to whatever I was doing.
But sometimes I get up and go see.
It's irrational and silly, sure. But so is buying a lottery ticket, if you run the odds, and I somehow feel--hopeful--every time I do it. Even if the oddly hollow banging noise turns out to be a loose shutter instead of a spaceship backfiring.
I've gotten very minimal writing done in the last month (lordy, has it been a month?). Five hundred words here or there, occasionally pounding my head against Skywatch's synopsis. I'm just so tired, all the time.
I have managed to do some work on the background for the sequel to Skywatch, which has Julien as the main character (the plan is three books, one each for each of the three primary characters, Eshe, Julien and Sanya). I'm very near the outlining stage, but I keep thinking of things I need to know before I hit the outline. It's been too long since I started a book from scratch, for real--I did the outlining for the werewolf book a year before I started writing it, and I didn't do a proper start for Horizons since I was trying something new (which didn't work, alas). It's lovely to stretch those muscles again, but it's increasingly clear that I'm out of practice.
In anecdotal news, I've recently had reason to think about a sort of strange, genre-fan reaction I have, and I'm wondering if anyone else does, too.
We all know how many stories in speculative fiction (and mystery, adventure, and thriller, come to think of it) start with an unassuming, innocent protagonist who gets embroiled in something beyond their ken. They invesitgate the strange noise. They look out the window when someone screams. They notice the cardboard box that crosses the road against the prevailing wind.
My natural inclination in all of those situations is to leave it alone. I'm not inclined to see what's making that oddly hollow banging noise unless it's obviously threatening. But then I remember all those stories that start with the person who looked, who discovered, who noticed, and I think, well. It's probably nothing. It might be something terrifying.
It might be something wonderous.
Could I live with myself if I missed my chance to see Narnia, or take a ride through time and space in a blue box, just because I didn't get up and go see?
Of course, I'd never know if I missed the Doctor, or a ghost, or a fey without their glamour. So sometimes I dismiss it and go back to whatever I was doing.
But sometimes I get up and go see.
It's irrational and silly, sure. But so is buying a lottery ticket, if you run the odds, and I somehow feel--hopeful--every time I do it. Even if the oddly hollow banging noise turns out to be a loose shutter instead of a spaceship backfiring.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-31 12:57 am (UTC)