A few things to show you…
It’s said there are three rules to writing a novel.
Unfortunately though, it seems that no one knows what they are.
I like to imagine that they have something to do with a fully stocked bar and perhaps access to a certified, yet pleasantly abstract and rebellious barista (‘cause I mean fudge those mundane baristas, am I right?)
But actually, who knows?
Oh hey! Umm, didn’t see you there.
*Slowly lowers sword*
Just, ah— ignore that.
Well, at the partial request of one of you fine folks (I kinda ended up taking this in another direction, sorry), I decided to explore the idea of dealing with those scrumptiously wonderful individuals (they are edible, right?) that don't always seem to worship your work.
Or *shudder* really like it for that matter.
It’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves. Probably staring at the blinking cursor, wondering what the gods need sacrificed in order to get the smug bastard moving again. A little wine? An entire cow? No worries, just let me grab the broadsword and I’ll be writing again before you can say ‘moo. (See The Best Kind of Ideas for context on this rather concerning joke.)
That aside, I swear, sometimes the damn thing knows. Watching us as we slowly drift closer and closer to some chaotic brink or other, waiting to see just how long we can stand it’s perennial and derisive blinking before going out back to start on our own graves. I mean, I know it’s just a damn line, but if it were a person, I’m like 80 percent sure I’d try to murder it.
Probably with a sword.
Though often depicted in movies as instantaneous and transparent, creativity is, in reality, quite the opposite. Maintaining good creative is HARD work. Like, sit down, focus, yell madly, and bash your head off the keyboard hard. There are days when my brain is so empty you could fill it with pingpong balls.
I often do.
The world is ending.
’Tis true.
Though I’m speaking strictly in the most technical of terms, of course.
Recently scientists just declared that Earth had entered its sixth mass extinction event, which… well, I mean that simply can’t bode well, right? There’s just no way anyone could spin that phrase to mean anything other than death on an absolutely massive scale. Mass extinctions are two words that no matter how lightly or happily you try and say them, just come out super dark. Try it.
So you’re sitting there, reading your book, pretending you’re sane. Minding your own business like usual. You’re nervous, and perhaps also a little excited. You can feel the thin chapter of pages remaining under your right thumb, pages that slowly dwindle with each page you turn and devour. You may even be smiling, it’s been a good day.
Yes, a good day indeed.
Fiction is probably the only substance more prominent in a writer’s veins than alcohol and caffeine, and trust me when I say that’s no small thing. ‘Cause we’re basically an inflated balloon of the three combined. There’s actually a scientific formula for that which keeps us functioning, but I’ve never been one for numbers. Not enough and we look like a skeleton draped in skin, too much and we…
Well I don't know if that’s ever happened, but I imagine we would go something like POP! and then there’d be writer bits everywhere, the occasional string of lost words, and it’d all be quite gross. But again I think that is in itself fiction since through a mighty blessing of evolution, the writing branch of humans are ironically graced with rather resilient livers.
