I’m sitting here in a soon to be populated community center in downtown Copenhagen with no great inspiration striking me for something to write today, feeling the
And thinking this might be as good a time as any to start on the swansong. It’s felt like an important process of discovering what sort of writer I am, from the high energy of the first iteration over the frustrations and blockages of iteration two, regret and self-recriminations of being too stressed out to participate in iteration three, until this purgatory shift where I’m able to repent my sins, make good on my promises, and explore something vital for me: writing with almost no feedback, collaborating with people who are gone, and making some conclusions. The code book is finally becoming useful here, as I can usually find some link to another writer having had similar thoughts as I’m writing them out.
Especially the little feedback part is teaching me something about my ego: I’ve somehow entrained myself to write in service of receiving love, because I’ve only ever gotten positive feedback for it, whether it’s likes, you’re-so-brave style compliments or other stuff. It’s a particular style of mild Narcissism, and I’m very keen to understand it better, break the pattern, start writing for the passion of it. Being on Babel has made it possible for me to make some headway in that exploration, and I’m very grateful for that. Although I still don’t feel like I fully understand Narcissus. More work ahead on that point.
I’ve learned that I’m pretty good at exposition, especially when it comes to wild flights of fancy.
I’ve learned that I don’t have the first clue on how to write dialogue.
And I’ve learned that my highly specialized diet of SF makes me weirdly deficient in a lot of ways. I see everyone else’s writings and am often in awe of your ability to do things I haven’t the faintest idea how to pull off.