No particular notes today. My mind is rather tired after dealing with a number of personal struggles over the weekend.
Most of my thoughts now are upon the strange way one can write themselves into a corner where they are forced to create more and more rules which they are then forced to follow, causing a rather trying roadblock in the writing process, in which they are ever consulting previous sections to make sure they do not contradict themself.
I am passionate about writing. It is an exercise for an imagination that I have cultivated since I was a child creating stories with my toys. Had I the patience to improve my artistic skill, I might attempt to make comics instead. There is a pain in being able to so clearly envision something, and not be able to recreate it faithfully.
I think every narrative writer has at some point wondered what adaptation of their work would look like. How would this character be casted on television? What kind of depth would be apparent in a video game? Would animation have the freedom to depict all the subtleties and grand moments?
I am no different. I idly dream of expanding to new audiences, of importance. I certainly do not crave all the direct attention and drama of fame and success, but to have my work appreciated is always fulfilling, and money doesn’t hurt.
Whether success is on the horizon, or I am to drift in obscurity, writing sates my creative impulse. Content to create content.
Seeds of Fear 