I promise there will not be too much going on about The New Project this week, but as it all kicks off tomorrow, this seems like the correct moment to explain just how fucking important Arguto is. This is the means by which anything is possible and acceptable as a writer. Sure, there could be an extension of self in any one of the three existing places that are provisioned for writing, but all of them come with a measure of immovable baggage. This place is new, fresh: the most pristine of clean slates. Here can be written the part of me that’s been hidden for decades.
This is where I will finally be free.
I expect the first steps to be tentative and cautious, but already ideas are germinating that will, in time, become brilliant blooms. Laying down a month of ambient vibes across the other platforms is a means by which brain relaxes into the grooves, and begins to run a better course. The plan, long-term, is to use a number of pre-planned projects as a basis for experience-based writing. This will begin with the ten days in August put aside for the road trip to Rome, ambition finally realised after several decades.
After that, there are plans to use London as a springboard but to also explore the place that is called home. Potentially there’s an infinite supply of source material at my disposal, what is required is the planning and organisation to pull everything together. Crucially, there will be physical evidence of all of this as a paper-based version of the online narrative is produced initially for free, but in time with the possibility of charging people to cover printing fees.
There, I said it.
I’m grateful to those already preparing to make this journey because it is reassuring to know you are not alone. Rest assured, its already a roaring success without a word being written.
Freedom gives a sense of confidence I’ve never found anywhere else in my life.
The day you first learn to walk, there is no expectation. It is a natural and normal part of your development from child to adult. You decide the right moment, and then it is no longer an issue. I’ve never broken a bone in my life (touch wood) but have had a period where I could not walk unaided. The day you know the crutch is no longer required should not become the be-all and end-all of the dependence, but that is only if you realise that you relied on the support.
Finally, the stage has been reached where it matters that what I write is seen as mine, and mine alone.
This has been a long, strange journey, but now it is time to stop using a video game to sell me. I no longer wish to use this method as promotion either; finally, there is sufficient confidence to build a brand on my own work and not criticising someone else’s. It’s a crutch that was for a long time an indispensable part of my daily life; now I’ve returned to just enjoying it for what it is. In fact, once I’ve written this I’ll spend an hour sorting out characters and be maintaining an interest.
Only one person thought they’d try and ruin my day yesterday. Before there have been several. This, in itself, is an important step forward too. I realise just how toxic and frustrating the Intenet can choose to be on any given day, but taking control into my own hands have an important advantage: I make the rules. That means, starting in April, I’ll be promoting myself via Twitter for three months as a means by which to judge whether the platform has any use to me. It’s a risky (and quite expensive) gamble but without trying, I will never know.
This is unexplored territory, and quite exciting as a result.
As a rule, admitting a bad day in public is frowned upon by most. Once upon a time I’d be forced to keep quiet if this happened, but fortunately those days have now passed. The only thing preventing me from expressing an issue now are the words needed to do so. You’d think that a writer could describe distress quite eloquently, but that’s not the case here. Trying to depict raw emotion, frankly, has been an almost impossible task. At least it was, until yesterday.
That was when ability finally caught up with desire.
After two days of frankly awful mental capacity (which at least in part is related to menopausal hormonal chaos) I have woken up feeling close to human. In fairness it began last night, allowing an awful lot of progress on work that’s been irking me. The speed at which things improved was very much dictated by my ability to explain where the problems lay, and then how they should be dealt with. I’ll admit I didn’t get all the resolution I’d wanted, but there was enough to allow all the negative emotions a space to flow away. Mostly, yesterday was a massive success for development as a poet. Trying to describe real feelings, transcribing that from brain to page, has created an ability that simply did not exist a year ago.
I’m still reeling from that revelation: it has taken half a century for me to be able to adequately describe what’s the matter with me. So many of my problems in early life could have been solved, or simply have just not happened, if I’d found the means to do this sooner. To all you lucky people who can precisely focus on such things, I have nothing but admiration: it is going to take a while to do this consistently, but now I can I think there’s going to be a depth to my fiction work that didn’t exist previously. I’m already considering my September short story as a massive departure from my first two, ‘easy’ stabs at the format. The only way you get better is by practice, after all.
This revelation also led to me scheduling a day every week just to write, and by that I don’t mean worry about blogging. In fact, starting this Thursday I’ll get up and not even look at a blog post across all of my sites. If I’m a smart woman I’ll also not stare at Twitter either. In fact that might be the better thing to do: schedule everything on Thursday and then walk away. I already have the gaming component of my time pre-planned for the week, so there is absolutely no reason the writing portion can’t go the same way.
What’s the worst that could happen?