It’s an incredibly mellow day. I’m having a difficult time with the concentration thing. In fact, I think I’ve given up on concentrating altogether. I was working on Strange Angels, but realized that I was having difficulty seeing the forest for the trees. Or looking at the whole forest, but forgettng the trees. Or I wasn’t looking at either forest or trees and was too caught up with moss and lichen instead. in fact, don’t think I was even in the woods at all. It was more like a creative underground parking lot. And I began to daydream about writing the thing as a novel instead.
The thing of it is, the script is so unusual and ridiculous, that I’m going through the familiar process of falling into hatred with it. It can’t possibly be good, I think. It’s just too strange, yet it’s just not unique enough. It didn’t come to life. I’m like Dr. Frankenstein after the lightning storm, only my creature lies dead on a filthy gurney, unmoving, quiet, and kinda ugly. You know, I’ve wasted my time, it’s just going to make people scratch their heads, nobody will want to read it. It’s all a process. This hatred is part of the creative thing.
So then I think, maybe it would be better as a novel. And I start plotting to make time to work on that. The same thing happened with the delicate skin. In the end, I was happy with that one. So what we’re probably dealing with here is a case of project burnout. I’m going to retire into creative mode and think about future projects for a while…
