I Actually Did It

Last time I was talking about a barrier to my continued writing, and how if I didn’t finish that, there would be ongoing episodes of interruptions as time went on. I thought that, while I was in that mode, I might as well finish all eight parts of this large undertaking (plus two bonus parts if I was feeling ambitions). However, when I started, I realized that this would be a hell of a grueling, monstrous task, much longer and more involved than I thought. Then I thought, “I’m just being a pessimistic idiot. It’s not that bad.” And I was right.

It was way worse.

It was long and hard and disheartening. I stopped in the middle of it, frustrated and stumped and as crabby as I’ve been in a long while, struggling with the writing and the word flow more than I have in years (this stuff is closer to poetry than prose, and I am capable, but less practiced with the former). I finally went to bed at about 3am on Saturday night, slept in till 7am, tried to get up, to which my body promptly responded with a derisive laugh, and crashed again until about 10.

In the light of day with some sleep behind me, I realized that what I had done was somehow, miraculously, thankfully not only coherent, but GOOD. It was exactly what I wanted. More than I could have expected. I realized that, though this was torture and difficult and wretched, I was doing it, and I was absolutely correct — to do this right, I needed to do it all at once, devoting 2-3 days to it. The eight parts of this whole had a cyclical quality, they mirrored each other with a sort of funhouse distortion that was absolutely what I needed and wanted from this.

I jumped in the shower and suddenly three scenes from the novel I had been neglecting to tend to this pressing project flooded into my brain. They were strong, they were jumbled, and they hit my still tired mind with the kind of force Jack Nicholson used on the bathroom door in The Shining. I thankfully was not reduced to the shrieks and weeping that Shelley Duvall did on screen, as it might have alarmed my roommate and caused paramedics to eventually burst through the bathroom door like deranged Kool-Aid men. “Oh yeeeeeeah!”

I finished the remnants that day. Then earlier today, still in that spirit, I tossed in the two bonus parts and finished them. I honestly didn’t think I could do it. It was involved, tiresome, and ultimately rewarding beyond what I could have expected. I thought I bit off a three week project. Instead, I did it in two and a half days. And the quality didn’t suffer for all that, which is also amazing — it was shockingly clean for the time and frustration involved.

So, tonight I take a breather…or at least I meant to. My hands are sore, my brain feels like I put it in a meat grinder, I’m tired, yet I read over the synopsis for the novel…and I’m adding to it. I can’t help myself. I suppose there are worse things to do despite your better judgment (murder springs immediately to mind. *cackle*). I didn’t think I could do it, but I did.

Now on to the next project, and I hope that this vigor stays with me.


~ by Darren Endymion on January 25, 2016.

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