For the FLOW of It: Just Some Dabbles

 

I'll be honest, I struggle with maintaining good feelings about what I write. This is one of those times. 

 

 Notes from the Field: Whats up my Outcasts. I was in a slump when I wrote this. I didn't feel confident that I was doing a good enough job as a creator. Felt like in the grand scheme of things I was falling behind...in some ways I still do. So, this goes out to everyone that has a talent they enjoy using, but they feel like they don't measure up. They feel like the mistakes outshine the effort. They feel like people discard what they do their best to express or show the world. For those whose inner critic is always on their shoulder convincing them that this will never work out, that it's not even close to being good enough or ready for the grand stage. For those insecure to share their talents with anyone in fear of being judged or told what we already tell ourselves...this is a pipe dream and we're not ready for the world to see just how powerful we are. 

I was hit so hard by "creator's depression" and exhaustion that I wrote in my protagonist, Deimos Moon, from my Work In Progress (WIP) and soon to be Speculative Fiction debut novel: Blade of Echoes.  

 If you are one of the people I described, or know someone that is going through this phase in their journey...you are not alone. Please share, and I hope you enjoy these words and they hit you in a special place. 

 

Have you ever worked on something that took so long to come together, and yet when you FINALLY finish it...it feels:

Incomplete?

Rushed?

Thrown Together?

Whether you're on a deadline or just doing it for the fuck of it?

That's exactly how I feel right now, this weird conglomeration of success and dread mixed in a bowl and is either half cooked or over-baked. 

"I can't serve this...something feels off...looks off."

"This didn't go the way I wanted it to go in concept." 

Yeah - all of those thoughts and more. 

I recently started to do scene level work on my WIP/Debut Novel: Blade of Echoes, after sitting through a few Critique Group sessions as I mentioned in my previous blogs. Figured, hmmm these are some hard, yet decent feedback points, let me see what I can do with it.

I dove back into the Prologue and first chapter...both were missing context and descriptions - the flavor that makes readers go "ahhhhhh this is gonna be so good!" So, nervous as I was to rework what I thought was good, I went to it. 

It took me almost 4 weeks to recreate both pieces.

4 weeks for two chapters? WTF? That's what I'm saying to myself, to the creator in me that just wanted to put something out there in a fun way...but this didn't feel like fun. This felt like meeting a deadline that had already passed.

"Passed based on who's timeline?" A voice said, sounding like mine, but more gruff and- exhausted.

I know that voice.

"Ah wassap D, didn't know you were listening to my inner rambles."

He chuckled and shook his head before leaning up against my auburn computer desk "You forget I'm part of your inner rambles."

Morgan Freeman said it best - 'he's right you know'. 

Deimos Moon, my main character in the novel. A disgraced war veteran caught up in a war that saw the demise of his team in combat, now recently divorced, separated from his children, and trying to build anew foundation for himself so he can see them. He's my worst case scenario in life, but probably my greatest creation yet. 

"So...lets talk about this...impostor syndrome you got." He said, sipping from his canteen.

"Impostor syndrome?" I respond, scratching behind my ear as if to hide my own insecurities about what I was working on. 

"Bro, don't play dumb. I'm an Intel guy...same as you. I create shit  too, remember? Give it to me straight. You feel like you don't measure up to anyone else in the field. Why?"

I hung my head and sighed. My body feeling heavy with the tingle of regret, the regret of not knowing where to go...or how to do it. "I guess you're right. This shit took me so long to gut and rewrite. Like, four fucking weeks to do two chapters? Other writers, they sit, run through it, and boom, they're done with several chapters if not the entire novel in that time. So I see that and I'm like - why not me?"

"Teh...because you have on your plate what they may or may not have." He said, giving me the captain obvious stare with a smirk. "You're a father first. You have three kids man, that's no easy feat. You...you at least still have your family in tact, even with all the shit you and her went through. You were destroyed bro, and you managed to rebuild yourself through this shit right here...even before the Blade of Echoes became a thing. 

    "You work a full time job on top of that. What, ten-hour days plus overtime on weekends just to break even, right?" he continued, looking me square in my disheartened eyes. 

I nodded with a flat "Yeah..." my throat felt like sandpaper. 

He continued, "Then you got this joint right here. The blog. Complex Compositions. Where you reveal the deepest parts of you. The thoughts, the feelings, shit that inspires you and gets you to think. The shit that nowadays most don't wanna fuck with. You're trying to promote on platforms that's super saturated with more shit than fertilizer and THAT takes a ton of work. This shit right here ain't for the weak of mind."

All I could do was nod. He was right this whole time. I was committed to more than just sitting down all day and writing. I did my best to write everyday, even if just for 15 minutes here or 10 minutes there. 

But something else was digging at me below the surface.

"That's all true, but everyone else seems to be doing it right. Having no issues or downtime whatsoever." I said, turning to face him.

"Or that's what they want you to see...you know this. A lot of what's out there is filtered to just show the end of the journey. The success of it all. Sure, they may show works in progress snips here and there, but how many are like you? In your situation? How many have your life experiences that punch so much in your chest that you have no choice but to write it the way you do? How many show the emotions behind the stress of writing to put their best foot forward? They may say do this or that...do this method. I did this so it works - nagh they are only showing you the good, not the REAL. 

    "You at least follow your own clock. Fuck a deadline. You go to the beat of your own drum. You feel the pulse of creativity rather than react to someone saying they need this done by a certain time or date....or its gotta look this way or else."

"But in order to be successful, you gotta set goals, otherwise you'll be dreaming and going no where." I retort.

Deimos got up off the desk and walked towards me. His eyes piercing mine with a glare of vengeance and distaste. I leaned back, not knowing what to expect. 

"Listen to what the fuck you just said...Goals huh? Fuck their goals Max. Their goals are great and all...for them. For you? The thrill of it matters. The fun behind it. Crafting nutjobs like me based on things only you got to experience as raw as you did. All the formulas they spit online and from the books you read...none of that shit matters unless it resonates with who you are and how you operate." 

His words echoed louder than the punches to the desk every few syllables.

"Lemme ask you this," he continued "When you were stationed in Korea...you were working on a joint called Midnight Run. What the fuck was your strategy then? What was your goal?"

"Just to write...to escape...create a world where I could be the hero. Stronger than what I was back then." I blurted out.

"What about when shit went south eight years ago? When you lost the house, the cars, the whole fucking American dream in a matter of a month? When you sat down in that Wells Fargo cafeteria, pulled out that old salad dressing stained notebook and wrote. What was your goal then?" he asked.

"Same thing...to just write...to escape my reality."

Deimos pointed at me with a nod "That right there...that's YOUR goal. That's YOUR truth. No formula. No best practice. No 'buy my course content' bullshit. That pure, unrestricted flow that only YOU possess. Don't fret because your shit ain't like theirs. You gotta celebrate that shit. You gotta own that. Anything outside of what you just said is either bonus or it needs to be cut from your headspace."

My body felt warm as flashes of all my writing ventures streamed from my mind. From ten years old to now, I always found comfort in just writing. No rush, doing it just for the FLOW of it. 

The darkest parts of my life, I found myself writing whether it was a journal or a novel. Or even just creating a multitude of characters that mimicked me...or were contrasts of me but had certain elements to them. Deimos was right yet again. 

These stories....they didn't come from the pressure of time...they came  from my mind wanting to escape...to create...to uplift myself and wipe my own tears when no one else was there to do it for me.

I got to create people that inspired the inner most parts of me to stand tall and be a bit better everyday. To be proud of who I was today, while trying my best to be a little better tomorrow.

"Word." I said, standing up and stepping towards him with my hand extended. "Thanks for that. Sometimes I get carried away in my own head..."

Deimos sighed with a nod as he shook my hand "Pfffft....tell me about it. Felt like I was talking to myself."

It was my turn to smile."Oh, but you were. I'm gonna do us justice, D."

"I know you will. You're doing great man...remember that. Follow your own fucking compass. When its ready, you'll know. You'll feel it."

Thanks so much for making it through this post. Reading it again brought me to tears...but I had to write it...for me and for you! IF you loved this one please check out my other blogs and share with others. I just want to uplift humanity. Get people to think, to feel, and to heal (it rhymes so it must be true).

If you so choose, catch me on Bluesky or Tumblr  as "Ronin Wrote Dat". I drop snips, thoughts, and feels there too. 

#IAmRonin #StillHere #RoninWroteDat #UnseenUnderstandings #OpenLoops #WritingJourney #Depression #ImpostorSyndrome