I hate writing. Don’t get me wrong, I love making up worlds, outlandish ideas, characters that after a while seem to me familiar like friends. The process of turning that into something someone would want to read, however, is a long and dull one in my case.
Sure, there are those moments of stereotypical Hollywood movie inspiration, when my ego thinks I am the new Hemingway and the words seems to flow through me like they came from the Muses of Creation themselves. But I’d guess that’s about 5% of my writing time. The rest of the 95% for me is a painful trench war in which I have to fight inch by inch, word for word.
I have tried different ways of approaching writing over the years. Flow of consciousness, writing first in pads, stopping when I was on a roll, trying to discover the story as it goes. Now I am an obsessive planner. I have plans for my plans. The image above, as I am outlining The Murder of the Pro Gamer, the second book in my Cybersampa Series, is an example.
What I like most about planning is that I try not to rely on inspiration at all. As much as it is great when it does come, you can control inspiration. For me, an author only writing when he is inspired is like someone buying a lottery ticket and counting on winning to pay the rent. What you can control is time. I protect my writing time like a wildcat. One day the results may be good, other I barely write a paragraph. But I did my part.
Writing to me is bringing order to chaos, a quixotic fight against entropy. Is a way of making sense of my ideas, and in the end I think it is because of them that I write. I write because ideas simply kidnap my mind. I need to exorcise myself from them. And after they are done I am proud of my stories. I may not be the best writer in the world, my books may not be for everyone, but they feel mine in a way nothing else I do.