My brain is not a disc priest
The Thunder King is coming to Sweden. At least he seems to have extended his terrible ozone smell to parts of the nation. To be specific – about right over my head. The air is stale, there’s a sort of yellow tinge to the light if you look at it from the corner of your eye. The air is heavy – and my head throbs like the Masters never ending drums – Bam bam bam Bam!
In other words, I can’t stomach doing what I’m supposed to do (this week I’m writing about brothels – but not here, mind you!). Aspirin (sort of) keeps the thunder king at bay, at least inside my skull. So have some faith in this winding sort of bloggery now … I’m not sane.
I better keep on topic. My brain is not a disc priest. My brain is almost as unruly as a pack of virmen (that’s an natural state; editing something sometimes takes longer than writing it!). This becomes more apparent the longer a text becomes. Case in point – The Story.
I’m about to embark on Part 9 of The Story. What I perceived as a leisure time short story “project” has grown into something … I’m not sure yet. It’s almost as if there is a Sha of Preposterousness (I know there’s a Sha of Happiness, so why not a Sha of Preposterousness?) I think I’m one of the first recorded victims of the Dread Powers of the Shas. Just what is the word for plural Sha anyway? One Sha, two Shites?
See! There it is! the virmen pack! Crazy ideas surging forward across the lush fields of creativity like a zerg attack. Biting the ankles of poor hapless writer victims. “We’re Rowdy!” the ideas scream. but you know what?
I would rather be chased and harassed by a pack of virmen ideas than an over-protective kobold keeping the Light of Ideas close to its forehead (mounted on top of a leather helmet). “You no take candle!” doesn’t ring as true and good as “We’re rowdy!”.
The short story got away from me. the story became … reanimated. This usually happens when I don’t have a set deadline for a project. Or when I don’t need the Writers Discipline. the Story (working title “I want to be alone”) is more of an experiment. Stream of Conciousness. At least it used to be …
38 pages later (that A4 pages mind you, not Legal) I’m nowhere near an epic conclusion. that’s 18.000 words, close to 100 000 characters. Here’s the scary part:
I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE ALL THOSE WORDS CAME FROM!
(An unrelated scary (?) image of a flying mage in “underwear”)
The Story is quickly growing to the size of a raid boss. to make matters worse – it’s a raid boss with quirky mechanics. Massive AoE insanity and obliterating melee one-shots … ok, not really. The thing is, I have no idea where “my brain” wants to go. Maybe I should start thinking about it, but … just where do we go from here?
I’m trying to sort out the dramatic need and all the other little things. The process of writing is almost organic in its nature, wich is why my brain really should be disciplined. On the other hand – trying to reign in this wild stallion of a stream of consciousness-story … can it be done? Should I do it? Will it bow down in front of me? Or kick my head in? To quote one of the characters from Oliver Stones JFK: “It’s a riddle hidden inside a conondrum.”
I’m going to leave The Story alone. See where it leads me. Instead I’m trying to sort out just how to present it. The Drop Down-menu is getting longer. More virmen-like. As if the code behind it all jumps around yelling “We’re rowdy!”. As if there’s virmen in the machine.