August is here already! And it’s the first Wednesday in August which means ISWG Day, the day when us writers get together and compare writerly notes. To be honest, I have nothing much to say this month. I was thinking about skipping when I saw the optional question:
August 5 question – Quote: “Although I have written a short story collection, the form found me and not the other way around. Don’t write short stories, novels or poems. Just write your truth and your stories will mold into the shapes they need to be.”
Have you ever written a piece that became a form, or even a genre, you hadn’t planned on writing in? Or do you choose a form/genre in advance?
Fact is, I’m now in this liminal headspace where I find myself arguing with the characters in my head about things deeper than plot. I know there are some writers – and occasionally it’s me – who can just take a plot outline and write a story. Then here’s what happens: my characters have other ideas, and they are not shy about expressing them. Stories are fun, sure, but evidently they’d rather lapse into long spaces of philosophy and/or politics and/or whatever else is bothering me deeply.
My brain needs an editor. (But editing is hard.)
I’ve kind of given in to the crazy for the moment. Maybe it was all that time in quarantine, where I found that venting was all I was really capable of. Then, I found that venting could be an art form in itself.
Writers write, so I guess I’m a writer. I just have no idea what kind of writing I’m doing right now. Fiction? Philosophy? Theology? Is any of this real? Is any of this actually happening? I know there are no such things as unicorns – but we all have “our unicorns.”
What is real? What is imaginary? When does imaginary meet up with the real?
It is terrifying, the challenge of the blank page. It’s also the place where I live. Now if I could just write a simple, marketable piece of fiction – that would be nice. I should probably get back to that. But crazy, experimental, out there fiction – that is so much more fun.