And I don’t want to sound as if I rediscovered the fire. However, it is always amazing to be reminded, once you progress further and further into the craft, of how beautifully complex writing can be —depending, naturally, on the topic and scope of your work.
I may have bitten more than what I could chew with my current work, which grew into an epic that juggles the personal struggles and conflicts of over 20 major characters in a scenario of increasingly apocalyptic events.
Basically, a bunch of people being f#cked over by a f#cked up world being itself f#cked over by destiny. Or randomness. Or however you’d call those momentous changes in History during which a lotta people die and after which an entirely new world is born.
It’s a complex set of themes in a relatively straightforward story. The narrative is easy to understand and get lost into, or so I’m working hard for it to be.
I love this book but, man!, does it take a tool. A few moments ago I’ve hit a “roadblock”, which led to a somewhat depressive stage coupled with very intense contemplation of how to improve the work followed by the finding of a potential solution followed, finally, by a renewed will to write and a continuation of my writing into (what I believe or hope to be) its proper course.
I feel both pumped and cautious, because I know all too well how easily “good” writing can fall into a hopelessly bad and clueless one.
Going back and re-writing entire passages of my work is basically my everyday struggle. Indeed, my current draft is a complete do-over of the previous one: over 75% of the book was deleted and re-written from scratch, and another 20% had to be heavily adapted to fit the changing structure of those previous 70%.
It’s a wonderful madness. Time-consuming, for sure, but wonderful in its own elegant kind of chaos. 😀
A few months ago, I had the expectation of finishing a somewhat commercial product by August this year, and I sure was adorably naïve back then. Now, the most realistic estimate is the end of the drafting stage by December 2019. Yep, 2019 —a whole other year. ;D
I’m not talking, by the way, of the same book I mentioned in my previous post. I’m actually working on two books at the same time: a “simple” one to be completed by the end of this year (hopefully) and a more robust one that’s taking much of my time (the one which I’ll finish only by 2019, at least).
Looking back to the extent of everything I’ve done and trying to see ahead in the path to where it might lead me reminds me quite vividly of how impossible yet inevitable writing feels: we venture into a hopeless journey knowing there’s nothing else in the world we can possibly aspire to do.
Sometimes we wash ashore and hit, maybe by accident, maybe by conscious design, a safe port, on which we rest for a while before plunging again into the sea.
It’s nice being reminded of the unfathomable complexity of storytelling and very ennobling to try and tame it. One feels both peasant and god by trying to tackle such a challenge.
Writing is awesome, writing is hellish —and, above all, writing is always difficult, as it wouldn’t be worth a damn otherwise.