This all began with a novel I started in 1989. It was titled, Nothing! and it was about an aspiring writer who had nothing to say. It turned out that writer was me.
I liked a lot of the ideas I had for the story. The main character emerged from a forest like a newborn and hitchhiked his way to a small Pacific Northwest town where he befriended a mentally ill and institutionalized novelist who believed he was an alien psyche from 40,000 years in the future trapped in a mentally ill and institutionalized body. I thought I had a lot to say about life, and identity, and storytelling, and meaning. But imposter syndrome got the best of me. It felt false for me to write anything about anything, let alone such heavy subjects, since I was so young and inexperienced. And so it was.
Then around the end of 2018, I had an idea.
"I should write that book now."
I knew I had plenty to say. I wasn't sure what that would be, but I was pretty sure I'd want to say it. So around the beginning of 2019, I started brainstorming and putting together notes. Obviously, it wasn't anything like the original story, but the core idea of it remained. I wanted to write about writers and writing.
It was slow but steady going through 2019. I put together about 70,000 words of notes, and by the beginning of 2020, I had close to 30,000 words for the actual manuscript. I was writing every night and I was happy with what I had and the progress I was making. I had a few readers I could trust to give honest advice, and the their feedback was quite encouraging. Then the pandemic hit.
Through the rest of 2020, I only managed to get the word count a little over 30,000. I reworked the beginning to a point where I thought it was a solid first draft of it. But I could manage little else. It wasn't the pandemic alone, it was that and the fact that I had gotten close to the end of the first act and I wasn't confident where I wanted to go after that. I had had an idea of where I wanted to go, but by the time I had reached 30,000 words, that idea wasn't going to work anymore.
I'm still committed to finishing the novel but I don't want to force anything when I'm just not inspired to do it. When I was writing, it was always best when it came from inspiration, and as much as I've tried to sit there in front of my notes and my manuscript, nothing was coming to me. The reason for this, I suspect, is that I don't know where to go.
It was never really a plot heavy story. It was more about the characters, their circumstances, and the deep undercurrent of themes and science and philosophy that drove it all. I still have the very end in mind, and it still works, I just need to figure out the in between.
So it comes to this. I want to use this medium as a means to continue to practice writing, but most importantly, to focus on story structure and plot development.
I will do this through analytical exercises on existing properties that will hopefully be just as instructive for other aspiring writers as it will be for me. I don't have any destination in mind. I don't know where I want to go with this, and I don't know how I'll get there. But I'm down for the journey.