Addendum.
I'm catching up on the last two newsletters from my grumpy hero, Warren Ellis, and it appears my creative process is still very similar to his, down to the small details:
I'm doing a fair amount of what I think of as "batch writing" at the moment -- filling single-project notebooks with material to organise and assemble, writing very long and complete outlines. The latter are one pass for the story beats and whatever else about the story occurs to me, one pass for detail, meat and correction.
The downside to this.... well, it's not really a downside, but it's also when you discover if your story idea doesn't have legs. Which stops you from dying partway through the actual execution, but it is somewhat disheartening when the thing that you thought was a really strong idea just dies after the first act or whatever. So I do have some notebooks that have been put away, just to let them settle and cook down, and I'll revisit them with new eyes sometime in the future, and maybe trip over the thing that I can plug in to make them work. Or they'll get cannibalised for parts sometime, which is also a thing that happens. This is why we keep notebooks and Loose Ideas folders and never ever throw anything away.
I've also just learned that a colleague of mine -- one I've worked with for quite a while but have never met in person -- has died after a brief but serious illness.
I considered him a friend, and I'm reading newsletters and Twitter and watching ST: Picard and writing on this god damned blog rather than dealing with that fact. Because the last few days have been difficult ones, and a tougher road awaits on the horizon. One pock-marked with the impact craters of even more bullshit and challenges.
Fair skies and calm seas, Scott. You are loved and missed.
I feel guilty for feeling like this, because we dodged a horrible, armor-plated bullet in this house not too long ago with Kim's health. I should be thankful.
Instead I'm anxious. Angry. Wanting to crank up my Slayer albums and just type away on something until my brain hiccups from the strain.
I can taste a little emotional bile in every breath right now. And part of my brain is wondering how much I can ingest before I start offering it back to the world.
The answer, of course, is ALL YOU CAN SEND MY WAY.