Tag: Inspiration

In comes the new year. Looking back always tells me that I’ve changed with time, though I did not feel it happening.

This chapter is the first to arrive truly adjacent to the one that precedes it. It also seems to hold much more in the way of comfort. In my pursuit of variety, I ended up seeking to recreate the sort of atmosphere that appears when the protagonist of a war movie awakes in a hospital behind enemy lines.

Again I make use of dreams, which will occur with some frequency in this story. In this case, the dream sheds some light on a earlier, omitted period of time.

I am a little under the weather currently, so I will make this short. A lot of my time these days goes towards the fervent consumption of media: largely to moderate my mood, but also for the cause of inspiration. I struggle to read tragedy as much as I struggle to write it. A relieving catharsis invariably feels better than a sorrowful one.

But, the real danger when writing is that, as long as the work is unfinished, tragedy can be unwrit. Characters can be ressurected. The sentiment “No one stays dead” in popular fiction applies here. But the world can only seem so dark when only nameless characters are allowed to rest in their graves.

To counter the previous sentiment, life tells us that everybody dies. One day I hope my work will mirror that clinical honesty. I want my work to have readers on edge, knowing the other shoe is always waiting to drop.

Incarnate’s overall first draft is approaching completion behind the scenes.

There are parts in the middle I intend to thoroughly edit and rewrite, but the overarching narrative is largely in the last lap. I do already have ideas for sequel material, but they are currently half baked at best. I also don’t think the story needs a sequel or prequel.

I hope to avoid premature celebration, so I’ll ignore the temptation to reflect in a profound way, and instead take a general view of this stage of the process.

There comes a point in every process where you realize the end is in sight. There are impulses at such a time, to either rush through what remains or draw it out. Part of the draw of a serial format is the opportunity to indefinitely extend the lifetime of a work, to repeatedly introduce conflicts to resolve.

However, at some point, the characters must either cease to resemble themselves via growth, or experience a frustrating regression, if the story is to be truly indefinite. Furthermore, one runs the risk of alienating even the most devoted followers by wasting time. A story must have an ending, even if that ending goes something like “And then something else went wrong, ad infinitum. ” The original The Princess Bride book has a pretty noteworthy ending in that regard.

I really could extend this series for a very long time, I have a talent for perpetually expanding the universes I imagine. But I think that despite myself, I’ve come to appreciate the power of an ending. Besides, once I close out the draft, I still have many weeks of editing and publishing to keep me busy while my next big idea develops. Not to mention, I may yet release some of the more lighthearted work I make in the shadow of projects like this.

Not every ending is a new beginning. But every beginning deserves a satisfying ending. And if one thing is certain, it’s that I love starting sh*t.

I believe my favorite book is and always will be The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. In particular, I have a fondness for a character who did not make the cut in my favorite film adaptation: Caderousse. Spoilers for that novel follow, and I do recommend reading it. It’s a bit long though.

For context, Caderousse appears at intervals in the novel, always on the wrong side of things. First, he drunkenly overhears a plot to condemn his friend, and is blackmailed into staying quiet. When he next reappears, he is the owner of an inn, with a wife who can best be described as sick in several senses. Here, greed and his wife control him, spurring him into murder over a small fortune. He reappears later, now a conniving thief, who finally dies at the hands of a villain he enabled.

Caderousse’s story is one of a man too weak to do what he knows is right, becoming wicked as he submits to bad influences. Throughout his first two major roles, he displays a significant sense of morality and loyalty, which are opposed by the company he keeps. His life takes a twisted path, and ends in a slow, terrified death, sweetened only by the presence of the man he failed to save.

I really love his presence in the story. He adds a layer of depth that cannot be denied. He is not outright a villain, but continuously acts out evil because he cannot find the strength to resist.

He is wretched. He suffers and becomes warped by his suffering. I frequently consider his contribution, wondering at the way a person can act against their own will.

I do not have much commentary on today’s addition to Incarnate, except to remark on how short it is. I considered tacking it onto the previous chapter, but felt that it would’ve been worse for it.

By now, some of the inspiration behind Sublime may be revealing itself. For instance, there’s a scene in Hellraiser: Hellbound that inspired the section with the things beneath the sheets early in this chapter.

On my mind right now, however, is the question of history. Specifically, omitted history. When performing the written equivalent of a jump cut, or intentionally creating a time skip, there’s a lot that the reader is left to interpret. And I am left to question if I should revisit later on.

Perhaps I decide that the scene in which a mentor and student cover a new subject adds nothing to the narrative that justifies the impact on pacing, and axe it. However, the student later uses something learned from this omitted lesson. How much do you clue in the audience to the source of this knowledge? If the effect is key to the narrative, then the scene likely would have been included, perhaps as a limited flashback. Is it enough to simply have the student proclaim their gratitude for having attended to their studies?

Consider the tragic backstory already contained in the term ‘orphan’. How much explanation is expected when they meet a parent, alive after all? Which are the questions better left unanswered?

Changing gears; the end of the holiday season is approaching. Having spent time with family and friends has been rejuvenating for my psyche, but potentially harmful to the mindset I cultivate for writing. I find that in some cases, I am suddenly being pulled to once again shy away from delivering the maximum impact.

I am a merchant of emotion, and therefore devote much time to controlling, or in some cases unshackling, my feelings. If I am to deliver catharsis of the highest quality, I must first lay the groundwork with great angst and want. If I become unbalanced and biased, I may become too cruel, or too lenient. It is for this reason that I space out the time between writing and editing, so that, in a sense, two of myself, in two different states of mind, must approve the work before it is published.

With any luck, I’ll be back to my typical level of self-inflicted distress. I may never be able to avoid seeming like a sadist/masochist, but my work will be the better for it, and that’s all that really matters. Satisfaction is worth all the struggle. I’m not really helping my case.

Many times when I’m writing, I’m struck by the idea to see things another way.

I will be up to my neck in a story that practically writes itself with how natural and compelling I find it, when along comes a half-baked idea that really mixes things up. One of the first projects I completed started as two chapters of dreary sci-fi noir and mystery, followed by the sudden compulsion to take the same characters and drop them into a fantasy world with political drama and full scale battles. I was pretty proud of the piece, but these days I look back on it with a hearty helping of shame. The pacing was a mess, the characters were flat, the very plot was contrived.

But the duality was the real reason I felt so proud. I had the ambition to form such a harsh contrast between two settings, and I was astounded that I told a story that made sense in that mess. Someday I’d like to revisit the concept, even if only for myself. They say behind every successful book a writer puts out is a closet chock full of incomplete and failed ones. I wonder how many unpublished gems are out there in the sea of reasonably withheld floatsam.

Even now, embroiled in blood and gloom, I get the fancy to drop my traumatized creations off in worlds of whimsy and light, just to see what they do.

I am my own character, I suppose. My own cringing and manic passion is the primary cause of countless inclusions and omissions.

I read a lot when I write, call it research or inspiration-fishing. The fact is, a certain sub-culture of fantasy has its hooks in me even when I dream of epic starship battles and futuristic stealth devices. How am I to resist daydreaming when my art of choice is laying literal daydreams onto paper?

All this to say that my projects have projects of their own, and Incarnate is no exception.