...And now we've reached the point in the plot where the protagonist struggles with the anxiety that comes with attempting such a challenging endeavor.
There was a time in my life where writing didn't scare me this much. To the contrary, the prospect of creating people and places, tapping into themes, ideas, machinations or speculations, used to excite the hell out of me.
Writing was one of the few arenas I ever ventured into where I felt I had some modicum of control over something. I know that observation can imply that I'm a control freak and, depending on your perspective or subjective biases of me, it's not an altogether unfounded one either.
When I was a kid, scratching down stories in old composition notebooks, it wasn't about control but creativity. Why it was that I became interested in storytelling, I couldn't really say. For whatever reason, it was something I just developed a knack for, according to my early grade school teachers.
The older I became and the more I struggled with trying to understand both the people I was in constant contact with, as well as the person I was growing into, the more I needed an outlet, some way to process all of these things pinballing around in my head.
And I won't lie. Some of it was fairly messed up and more than a little scary. That said, I always found it a little reassuring that I was never interested in following in the footsteps of Stephen King or Clive Barker and writing horror stories. My interest was more vested in the psychological, even though there are aspects of it that venture well into the realm of the horrific, trying to understand why we do the things we do to each other, good and bad, always fed my curiosity.
But now, what worries me more is the idea that in order to feel better, whatever the heck that means, it'll involve writing a story that taps into everything I've experienced and how I view the world in all its dark, dirty, unforgiving totality. To funnel it all out into chapters, paragraphs and prose.
It wouldn't be the first time I tried either. The last time I did was six years ago and while it had hints of what I think I'm capable of, part of me knows I can do better...if I can let myself fully go there.
The question is whether or not I can fully commit myself to that sort of a deep dive or not? It's one thing to have an interesting story in your head. It's another thing entirely when it refuses to be extracted.
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