Frantic is coming along smoothly. I’m riding the high of Grind seeing the spotlight. But Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ, why is this online novel mind-fucking me so much? I mean, even after my motivational rant, I’m still stuck. Getting out of the starting gate is one thing, but sometimes getting to the gate in the first place is a total mindjob.
It’s like you’re staring through a window, a grimy window fogged by steam on the other side, and you kind of see something moving in the distance, something you want to see. But you can’t see it clearly, and you’re not even sure what it is you hope to stare at. It’s like you don’t know what you want.
Maybe this is the fear manifesting itself again. Maybe I’m being too much of a perfectionist trying to please myself that I’m not looking for a stop sign, a reason to tell myself it‘s time to stop thinking and time to start writing. Or maybe there are so many disparate ideas and topics I’d want to write about that melting them all together is overwhelming me, seasoning the dish too much and ruining the flavor.
They call science fiction the literature of ideas. You have different histories and timelines, other forms of life (other universes, even), new technology and how that ripples through society. There’s hard science fiction and soft science fiction. There’s cyberpunk, steampunk, biopunk, and nanopunk.
There are – how can I put this politely? – just a shitload of options!