So The Question Is...
Jun. 5th, 2006 01:41 pmDespite my plans, I found myself mugged by a shiny new short story that demanded it leap over the queue and be written right now, thank you very much.
I'm a little over five hundred words in and my brain suddenly realized that I was doing things I had never tried before as a writer. Things with voice, and language, and tense, and perception. I've wondered off into new, weird, uncharted waters.
And then I stopped cold.
So the question is: what stopped me? Is it that I've overreached what I'm capable of as a writer? Or is it just raw naked fear of wandering off into the unknown?
I'm going to go for a walk and see if I can sort myself out.
Peace,
Michael
I'm a little over five hundred words in and my brain suddenly realized that I was doing things I had never tried before as a writer. Things with voice, and language, and tense, and perception. I've wondered off into new, weird, uncharted waters.
And then I stopped cold.
So the question is: what stopped me? Is it that I've overreached what I'm capable of as a writer? Or is it just raw naked fear of wandering off into the unknown?
I'm going to go for a walk and see if I can sort myself out.
Peace,
Michael