I was at this.. thing, yesterday.
I try to keep details out of this blog, the whole anonymous things(y’know. Despite linking it to about three of my friends(I can feel their eyes on me as I type. Ga-ack)), so details will be a vague minimum.
Ooh. I know. I’ll just say I was at a college!
Now, you know - or perhaps do not, whatever - that I am a college student myself. Only I’m at the lame college. I’m at the minimum requirements college. I’m at the ‘hang out here with people your own [relative] age for about three years, and we’ll hand you a degree’ college.
The college I was at yesterday is well known for NOT being that kind of college. Walking through its campus, you could feel, everywhere, surrounding - you could feel the productivity. Off of students, off of the things they had done and organized, out of the very air itself!
Well, probably not the air. I mean, if you bottled up the air and bought it to me I would probably not feel it was any more productive feeling than regular air. Possibly more stuffy air, true. It was a WARM day. The air was warmer than usual. Decidedly more pleasant. Sunlight mingled with it. Rather peaceful, in a happy way. But still. Air is air, and as such, has no real effect on the productivity of the college to the best of my knowledge(heh. the idea that they put something in the air over there is… well, actually, for the fees they demand, they probably can afford to have scientists study productivity-enhancing chemicals they release into the air. Although I doubt this).
It shamed me. Well… not so much shamed me as it glared deep into the heart of my soul, asking it - “And what have you been doing with your life?” in that tone of voice that knew I had no worthwhile answer. Y’know, like, accusing with splashes of sneering? Like that. And I can laugh and grin in the face of that ghostly questioner(I’m picturing him with cartoonishly red eyes, a ghostly body - you know, white, and ends in a tail. Only not the translucent white, no, this is full on, full bodied, grey-veined whiteness. Like a character on Courage, The Cowardly Dog! Show), but when another littler, less scary and more knowing voice asks me, “Honestly. Don’t you feel like you should be doing something?” I can’t lie - my life’s a stagnant pool of water, and I’m adrift upon it.
Granted, it’s not the swamp it once was, and for that I’m grateful - but it’s time to DO, you know? People are getting jobs, and some of them are writing jobs. People keep telling me to go for this, and for that, and I see things and opportunities perfect for me and I know they’ve not run out by now.
This is not me complaining about the utter waste my life has become. This, here, is a starting point - I’ve got stuff to work on, now. Projects! I’ll project me up! I’ve got the one big project!
And I have got to start reading again. And writing again… okay, damn. Too much. I’ve got classes to attend to, too - I’ve been skipping way too much. And if I become too much of and anti-socialite, I’ll become depressed.
So, I have this idea - of writing with a friend. Like, someone who I can sit with and just write and write and write… and then when I want to stop I’ll look up and say “This is where I am stuck!” and they’ll help me through it. Just until I get my writing stamina back up. Or maybe not, if it works out well. I’m just… not sure who I’d be able to do that with, though.
Okay. Shelve that idea.
One thing for sure is that I want this book done. I want a book done. A multitude of short stories? I don’t think I can do that. I don’t have the skill to be able to fit a story into something small - a short story is like… One. Thing. A book can go on and on and on and…. hmm.
Okay, here’s the thing. All my story attempts in the past few years have been a concept or sentence fragment or this super strong feeling just hitting me. And I would write forward from that one spark.. but I’ve been unable to go very far. But I’ve been thinking, maybe that’s the wrong way to do it. Instead of writing away from a point in Imagination Space(Imagispace? IMAGISPACE!), maybe I have to write towards something. Begin with an ending that matters?
It’s a shot in the dark. But hey. I’m in the dark. Shots in darkness are thus fairly warranted.
Another thing hit me….
The idea that I’m writing about things that I don’t understand. I make up fantastical worlds that I don’t fully understand. I don’t even ATTEMPT non-fantastical stories because I know that I know far too little about how a real world works. God, that scares me. All my questioning, all my observing… and I’ve BEEN nowhere where the world happens. I’ve been in my own head. And the heavens only know if I even understand THAT.
Okay. What do I know? The answer is comic book trivia. I know - okay, I’m far from the best in the world, but I do know way more than the average non-geek. I’ve given it thought. A LOT of thought, and consideration, and dreaming. I can’t borrow too much from it unless I turn to fan-fiction - and there’s nowhere I can get with THAT until I reach the point I’m finishing stories for the pure need to write them - but there ARE stories that just grab an established universe and change a few details to protect themselves from copyright infringement. “Soon I Will Be Invincible”, for example, or “Irredeemable”. And I have had this idea in my head for a while. Only I’ve been stopped because, well, all superhero comics are set in America. Almost all, anyway.
But, and this hits me now… who says I have to write about America? Who says the only reason to change the main name and other details is copyright infringement? I shall write about Boogledonia! Well, okay, I shall write about a better-named country than THAT, but you get my point.
A superhero story. Well… no. Not that.
A story SET in a superhero universe. There are two unexplored avenues. Heck, three, but the third one makes for boring storytelling, so I’ll just tie it in with the first.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’m excited. I look into the future, and it smells like an unnecessarily gritty reboot - which I believe is now necessary for ALL popular comics to have to go through at some point.