Writing the Wrong Dang Thing

It's been, I have to say, a long time since I've really felt inspired for an extended period of time. The last time was through the entire latter half of Sylv Vol II in early-to-mid 2020, and it got me through most of that novel and The Unpleasantness.

Since then, it's been... quiet. My progress through Untitled City Novel has been a sort of inconsistent plod - I'm enjoying it, sure, but it's not quite hit the same. There have been other brief flashes of inspiration for other stories or art projects, but nothing lasting more than a few days and a chapter's worth or a single page of art.

That changed about two months ago, when I fairly spontaneously allowed myself to write half a short introductory chapter to a story that has been bouncing around my head for a few years, but which I very intentionally had not been focusing on yet. There are other stories more prescient to tell that are already underway; this one could wait.

But then, very abruptly, it couldn't wait. It had to be told right now, and it was ready and it was not waiting for permission.

I ended up writing fifteen chapters in the space of about six weeks, varying between a chapter every few days, and two chapters a day. Every time I thought the flow had ended and the spigot had sputtered dry, more would gush forth. It consumed me. I had to make the playlist for it; if I sat down I had to write it; my gym sessions and dog walks and drives to work were dedicated to it. I indulged it for the first week, then it just didn't stop and so I tried to make it stop, re-reading recent chapters of City and changing my listening habits, but that didn't help at all. It just left me creatively frustrated and resentful of the other things I was "supposed" to be creating.

So, I cut myself some slack. We missed a week of Sylvpod again, sorry, and I left City for a while. I appreciated the creative flow while it lasted, revelled in how competent and comfortable writing felt, how easy inspiration came. Of course, it did eventually dry up, and that's okay.

It's okay to just have a nice diversion sometimes. There is a long, long slog left of City - finishing the first draft; many more months of editing and reviewing; probably a complete re-write of some substantial chunks; and then the slow build of titles, blurbs, covers, and promotion. I couldn't live without it, of course, but something gentler is nice sometimes.

It's okay to wander down the easy road for a while, I guess. You do not have to repent for happiness.

Poem: Untitled, 08/07/2023

Things have not been amazing in my brain recently, so here is a poem, dated 8th July 2023.

Untitled, 08/07/2023:

Keep flying, little bird.

Do not slow down.

Do not slow down.

 

Keep flying, little bird.

You must not rest.

Do not stay in one place too long.

 

Keep flying, little bird.

The hands that seem to nurture

will only try to hold you down.

 

The cage is open, little bird.

It is not home.

It is not home.

 

I know you are tired, little bird.

You must keep flying.

You will never be home.

 

Keep flying, little bird.

You cannot be loved.

Do not slow down.

Crescendo

Last week, I reached a point in City Novel that I had been looking forward to since I started writing it - a twist I had been thinking about and planning for a solid six years. It was as satisfying as you'd hope; this is my primary reason for never "jumping ahead" when writing, even if I'm stuck in a slump and the Good Part feels impossibly out of reach.

I'm not sure if it has been (I am far too tired to count now, at 11.35pm on a Friday after editing a late episode of Sylvpod), but it feels like the longest stretch since I last published a book. I think the effect is compounded by the fact that even if Sylvestus Vol II only came out two years ago or so, I had been writing Sylv for a long time, as three novels in the end front-to-back. I was writing City on and off for half the time I was writing Sylv. Dying Ember was published in 2014 when I'd already started Sylv, so -

Wait.

Each Separate Dying Ember was published nine years ago? Well, dunk.

I guess when you hit your 20s, the years really do start racing by. I hesitate and frown when people ask how old I am now, second-guessing myself - 25? That can't be right. I finished university four years ago? No, that doesn't seem true. We've lived in this house for fourteen months? No, I must be confused.

The best way, I've heard, to not feel like your life is rushing away from you is to fill it with as many new experiences as you can, as much variety as possible. It also keeps the wonder there, stops nostalgia from casting a pallour over the current day to make yesterday seem brighter.

Things are never perfect, but a missing pet is found again, a weekend arrives, a friend is visited, a sunset is watched, an annoyance is forgiven, a moment is savoured, a long-awaited crescendo is written. The wave crashes to shore and slowly withdraws. We ready, once again, to hurl ourselves forward into the new day.

Back in the Saddle

True to my word, I have been doing my best to flourish. It's easier some days than others; on the whole, the past year has been a phenomenal improvement on the few before it, and I'm constantly reminded of that. The human brain, however, is not so easily pulled from its patterns.

I went far, far out of my comfort zone two weekends in a row a while ago, and both ended badly. Was there long-term damage or loss? No, just bad experiences in the moment and a sour memory to look back on. Both times, my brain has wanted to spiral down old, bad paths of hatred and regret and harm. Both times, I have allowed it a little indulgence before dragging it back to We Don't Do That Anymore. Friends have helped, both times; I think a huge enough step is allowing them to.

They're experiences. They're fine. They're markers of progress, and one will be a funny story and a surprise for the next game of Never Have I Ever, eventually.

I've also been playing Disco Elysium for a few weeks, which I am enthralled with of course. I could wax poetic but this is not a game review blog - read Polygon's 2019 review of it and play it yourself. But suffice to say, I have been feeling very much represented by a certain amnesiac detective and his host of inner voices. Ancient Reptilian Brain and Limbic System have a lot to say to me.

You can come an incredibly long way, and then have a minor setback - a mistake or rejection or shock or turn of luck - which sends your brain down a Bad Spiral. The progress from the past is that now, you still have a dog to walk, a cat to feed, a podcast to record, a letter to post, a shop to visit.

One of those setbacks was in February and it meant that I couldn't record for two months. But I am pleased to confirm that Sylvpod is back in full swing and will return to its fortnightly scheduling, starting... earlier today!

So, that was a long-winded way of providing a general update and that notice: Sylvestus: The Podcast is back, should be no further delays on it, go play Disco Elysium ✌️

Flourish

I've never made new years' resolutions. Don't see the point. I'm not someone who revels in their bad habits for a short time with the intention of giving them up at a set date; I'll come to it when I'm good and ready, and when I do decide, I typically don't go back on it.

 

It took me a long time to overcome the shame and dysphoria of going to the gym, but I did it when I wanted to and I haven't stopped. Drinking alcohol petered out over the course of two years or so, and when I decided, "okay, that was the last time," I never drank again. I take up new hobbies with care and research, and I often don't announce plans or start projects until I know I can carry them through.

Lent was a big thing when I was a kid. I'm sure it has more complexity, but the way it was essentially taught to us was that Jesus gave up food and water in the desert for forty days and forty nights, so we should give up things we loved but that were bad for us for the forty days before Easter. I never really got it, because Jesus didn't give up wine or Pepsi or kebabs, and we weren't encouraged to give up all food and water while traveling the desert. I always felt like people were confusing it with Ramadhan.

Teachers would encourage us to give up chocolate or crisps, parents would lament their inability to give up fizzy drinks, my peers would brag about how it had been three whole days since they had eaten cake.

If we were supposed to give up those things because they were bad for us, why did we take them back up as soon as the Adult-Mandated Time of Abstinence was over? It never made sense to me.

So, what I started doing instead, when I was maybe ten or eleven years old, was start doing good things for that period. Things that I thought Jesus would be proud of. If it didn't stick, then I had made the world better for forty days; if it did, I had made myself better in the long run.

One year for Lent, I gave one compliment every day. Another year, I said every nice thing that came into my head. Another, I did one helpful thing for someone every day.

I was ahead of my time, honestly; it's the kind of thing that would be shared on Facebook and get a billion likes on Instagram by people who fall into multi-level marketing schemes now, but at the time, those same people just made fun of me for being too weird. Such is life.

It petered out in my late teens, when no-one did Lent anymore and I was too stuck in my own head to give compliments or be helpful every day. I like to think that nowadays, I try to incorporate those values into every day, regardless of whether it's just before Easter or not - hopefully those Lent years were good practice. And speaking of incorporating them into every day - that's really my whole approach to the idea of new years' resolutions.

Why wait for the Socially Acceptable Cue to make changes? Big or small, there's things you can do every day to make that day better.

For the last few years, my goals overall have been bare and simple. Survive. Get through. Recover. Find a way forward. Escape. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a solid ground beneath my feet. A job I can settle into and stick with, a stable happy living situation, sustainable finances... I can plan. I can create. I can think about short-term luxuries and long-term goals.

So, when I was tasked in my LGBT+ church a few weeks ago with coming up with a new years' resolution... I tried not to be sardonic.

So, what's not sardonic? Sincerity, I guess.

What do I want out of this year? To save money for something. To finish writing something. To get better at something. To have a procedure. Maybe my hesitance to finalise these things, to write them down and hand it in to someone who promises to keep it safe for a year and give it back to me in twelve months' time, is a kind of fear as well as a value.

So, I went with something simpler, but... sincere.

Flourish.

 

Let's revisit next January, I guess.