Partly, I’m blazing through this story because I am so pissed about the ugliness of the world–which I have mentioned before.
There is doing stuff to ignore other stuff in a useless way; then there is doing stuff to ignore other stuff in a useful way. I think writing more out of fury/sadness/frustration/etc solidly belongs in the second category. It’s quite useful to default to writing more, rather than less, when faced with (perceived) challenges.
That said, in this case, ignoring stuff isn’t some shallow denial. It’s not something where I just wait around until it’s over and then it’s gone and there is no problem.
I genuinely think there are problems in this world. This, not in a “the world sucks and it’s hopeless” kind of way. It’s more like “I can’t believe the world itself is dealing with this shit.” Like, when I see people not even having the guts to actively destroy their lives and instead waste them away gradually by investing their existence on shit (which they themselves admit to being shit), I just can’t believe that that’s what they want, or what the world wants.
I think people are only doing it because there is objectively no easy way for them to find better things for themselves. As in, they don’t actually want shit, they want great things. (Whatever they define as great.) They want bright, brilliant, shiny things. They are bright, brilliant, shiny things, and they know it deep down. That’s why they feel like shit while consuming shit.
I think this is why I felt such an urgent need to write something about the stars. Literal stars. They are bright, brilliant, and shiny, and they align, most literally. Many things in my stories are literal because, literally, sometimes the world is so ugly that you need to shove bright, brilliant, shiny things in people’s faces, and even then they might be buried in the shit.
I want to burn burn burn so things are bright, brilliant, and shiny to no end, so the world doesn’t suffer ugly shit, thinking that that’s the only option.