Currently, I have exactly 109 undeveloped story ideas. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that’s more than enough ideas for a lifetime of writing.
I have never been much of a marathon runner, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The former because I have abysmal stamina, and the latter because of my lack of focus.
I have always been much more of a sprinter when it came to getting things done. Whether it’s studying for my final exams, or completing an assignment, or writing a 50,000 word novel. I simply find myself unable to do that consistent work my mother keeps telling me to do. If I meant to complete something today, I’d wait until 11.30P.M. to start work. If I had something to do before I left my house at 4P.M., I would start work at 3.45P.M. If I had a daily quota of 2,000 words to write, I would procrastinate all day, cursing myself for procrastinating, until I get sick of myself and start doing it – and then finish writing all 2,000 words in half an hour.
And then wonder what in the world was I doing all day.
My mind simply rebels at the thought of responsibility. I constantly find myself doing exactly what I’m not supposed to be doing; and 4 and a half years of sitting bored in lectures are plenty of time to be daydreaming about stories when I’m supposed to be listening attentively to my lecturer and taking down notes.
Somehow, this has overflown into the way I write as well. When I actually have scripts to write, I find myself being drawn to narratives. When I have a narrative to write, I am writing scripts like how I should be studying the scriptures.
(apparently, Warren Ellis suffers – or thrives – in this very same condition)
However, when I do sit down to write – God help you if you snap me out of my zen. Sometimes the feeling just comes; most of the time, I write myself into a frenzy. But once I’m in that euphoric state where the words flow like water from a broken tap, and the story and the characters seem to set themselves ablaze and come to life all on their own, defying everything written in the outline – when I shift into high gear and I’m clocking it in at 100 words per minute, I will CUT you if you break my concentration by talking to me or sending me a text.
(I’m just kidding, I won’t actually cut you. But I will seriously consider it for a brief, dangerous moment)
And when the high wears off, I just sit slumped in whatever I’m seated in – satiated, but wonder if there’s more from wherever that came from.
(I just feel a need to add that this is exactly what I imagine the after-sex feeling to be like. Don’t bother to correct me on this, though)
In the following days, if I don’t manage to capture that writer’s high again, the project just sits untouched within the pages of my OneNote file. I will find myself absently clicking at the tabs, looking at the different ideas that I’ve came up with in the past…
And then something will catch my eye. Somewhere in my brain, a massive spark has just been set off, exciting thousands, if not millions of neurons. Ideas emerge. The dam breaks.
And I begin to write again.