Friday, September 22, 2006

Meh.

Lately, I've been very frustrated with myself and my complete lack of creative output.

The last creative thing I did was my friend's wedding present. I have ideas in the same vein to use for other projects, but they require time, money, and materials I do not have at present.

This morning, I was looking for some images to make icons out of. Icons which I've had the plans for for about two years. ::facepalm::

I got sucked into the story, as it's a wonderful, complex, and funny one. And then I remembered that I've broken bread with the author. He bought me drinks. In person, he's as funny and cool and twisted as you'd imagine.

And then it struck me, what my problem is:

I feel like my brain is too small. So many writers I know have characters walking through their heads all the freaking time. It drives them batty, so many people in their minds, begging for their stories to be told.

I just don't have that.

Every once in a while, I'll get a flash of an idea, or a bare skeleton of a character. I'll write it down, sometimes as little as a patch of dialogue, sometimes as much as a full biography from which to work. But with the exception of very few projects, nothing happens.

I lose the thread, the line of story that I was following. Next thing I know, it's been six months, and the text file has been sitting, unloved and unwanted on my hard drive.

A friend of mine who edits an indie comic asked if I wanted to write a story for her. Sure, I'd love to--I just don't know what. I have *an* idea...but it's so literally from life that it would betray too much privacy.

I can bend reality in 32 flavors, but I have a devil of a time creating my own.

1 comment:

Professor G.H. Dorr said...

>> I feel like my brain is too small. So many writers I know have characters walking through their heads all the freaking time. It drives them batty, so many people in their minds, begging for their stories to be told.

That's one of my two problems. I have characters and worlds in my head -- screaming, seething masses insisting that I work out their stories. Trouble is, since all their cries have the same volume, every attempted project runs right into a pulsating wall of white noise that nothing can penetrate.

>> I lose the thread, the line of story that I was following. Next thing I know, it's been six months, and the text file has been sitting, unloved and unwanted on my hard drive.

... and this is always the end result of the above. I get ten pages, twenty pages, thirty pages done. Then either insecurity and cold feet wreck my momentum, or some switch in my head flips and I start thinking about another project altogether that I want to work on...

It's not good, but goddammit, it seems to be largely endemic to this generation. A whole group of people who can play in other people's sandboxes without issue, but mash their thumbs and sever their fingers when trying to build their own.

--Brian Taylor