“Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.” – Neil Gaiman
Speaking of new beginnings – I say like it hasn’t been over two months since my last post – I began work on the umpteenth re-imagining of my novel Grimalkin. Which is to say, I wrote over a chapter in a fit of inspiration one day; and I have spent every day since developing characters and working out the plot, mostly while showering, trying to sleep, or even driving.
Mind you, I always pay attention to cars and lights and stop signs and little woodland creatures, but once I missed a turn, and another time I thought I missed a turn only to realize I was totally on track, if a bit discombobulated from lost time.
(Seriously, though – don’t plot and drive.)
Little remains of the last incarnation, apart from the general setting and a few characters, some re-imagined much like the story itself. Ironically, one of the supporting characters that made the cut was one I intended to remove, but there’s a stronger case for her now, and I can’t imagine Grimalkin without her.
I’ve also been polishing my short story, “Alpha” (soon to be published), dabbling in other pursuits, and battling crippling self doubt. It’s been a tough summer that began with an unexpected pet death and culminated in adjusting to a higher dose of a non-stimulant while managing grief and lifelong frustrations magnified by the worsening state of the world.
Recently I saw a Tumblr post from another writer with ADHD about Terry Pratchett. Pratchett set a surprisingly modest daily writing goal of 400 words for being such a prolific writer, and it just sounded so tantalizingly manageable. I glanced back at the new beginning of Grimalkin, which is more than double that, and I don’t think it took me over an hour to churn it out.
Of course, that’s my typical MO: either the words pour out, or they bottleneck somewhere between brain and fingers. Supposedly Writer’s Block is a myth, and anyone who experiences it isn’t REALLY a writer, but surely irritability can plague the brain as much as the bowels.
(Yes, I know it’s a gross analogy, but it’s also pretty accurate, though I do hope the actual output of my brain isn’t proverbial poo.)
((Then again, that often sells…))
Moving on…
I debated sharing the new opening chapter of Grimalkin or excerpts from my other short stories, and maybe I still will, but I do plan to release a proper website. I just have to pick a host and relearn coding, and honestly, it all just sounds an awful lot like work.
(It’s possible I may be lazy independently of having poor executive functioning.)
((It’s also possible my ongoing woes about the futility of life coupled with my inability to find the right words to inspire positive change have killed my motivation.))
(((No, I’m not depressed, at least not clinically, just…paying attention.)))
I’ve been leery of speaking precisely for fear of providing a glimpse of what it’s like inside my brain when I let my thoughts run amok, but maybe that’s what I need to ease the bottleneck. And, bringing this post full circle, my existential angst has been key to thematic content and the development of one of the supporting characters in Grimalkin.
I can assure you she’s more optimistic than I am.
It’s easy when you’re written that way.
