Let me start by saying ‘Thank You!’ to all of the people (probably few) that took the time to read my first two installments of The Architects, which I released here on the blog over the past four-five months.
I’ve come to a few realizations, and learned a few hard lessons since the start.
First and foremost, finding the time to write is next to impossible for me. Juggling a full time engineering career, being in a metal band, devoting time to a daily workout (shocking, I know), and spending time with friends here and there, it leaves precious little time to sit down and crank out the next bit or blurb on whatever I’m writing. While this is not the worst predicament in the world to have – as I finally feel like I have a sense of balance in my life for the first time in awhile – it makes the prospect of writing a 100,000-word manuscript (be it solid gold, or a hunk of crap) an overwhelming feat that will most likely not materialize.
Secondly, I found that every time I would sit down to write (few and far between as it were), I would be substantially more pleased with the scene I just wrote, and perceive my earlier bits as worthless drivel. I was constantly wanting to go back and revise or rewrite scenes that I had done earlier because I felt like my skills were growing with each sitting. And satisfying this impulse would be a definite nail in the Architects coffin, the damn thing would NEVER get finished.
Thirdly, and perhaps the biggest light bulb moment – The story itself was entirely too ambitious for my first journey into the treacherous waters of authorship. While I was super stoked on the narrative that I had spent months outlining, the characters I had loosely crafted, the interwoven plot lines, and the imagery that was dying to spill out on paper – it was a HUGE undertaking. Far too much for my feeble little mind, with virtually zero experience in the craft of actually writing the story that was in my head.
So, what the hell does all of this mean?
As the title of this blog post implies, I’m going to take a step back and focus on something that can lay a nice solid foundation for me to build upon. A more humble beginning.
More specifically, I need to hone my skills on a format that is far less daunting than a novel. I need to build confidence in my writing ability while not feeling compelled to make everything perfect for the sake of “writing the perfect novel.”
I have always been a very systematic type of person. Structured. Methodical. A bit anal. Okay, alot anal. And it seems that if I follow my own logic and approach this hobby (and perhaps a future means of income) as a more graduated approach, I’ll be far more likely to see it through and ultimately succeed.
Translation – I want to focus on shorter fiction for now. Short stories, novelettes, and novellas. Basically, anything less than 40,000 words.
Not only will this be far more manageable for me, I will be more comfortable. And I will actually have a finished piece of work, be it excellent or terrible – it will be finished nonetheless. And I can move on to the next piece, which will hopefully be better than the last.
So that’s my plan. Write something new, Release it, Repeat.
And maybe one day in the future, The Architects will be resurrected to fulfill it’s rightful place among the greatest literary masterpieces of all time. Okay, probably highly unlikely. But I can dare to dream.
Thanks for reading.
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