😴 I am in Penelope’s blank page.

Infinity and intention, they say in Log Me Tender.

I am there now. There is a time early in a story’s life where it is everything and therefore nothing. Because it could be anything at this point, it might not live.

Not knowing if it will live or die, I just have to start telling the story. (I have tried outlining before; it’s not useful for me because something always changes. Also, for me, it is boring to write with an outline.)

I “outline” while I write in the sense that after writing Chapter 1, I have a bunch of questions that need answering. Then comes Chapter 2 and it poses its questions. So as I go on, I keep those questions written down and use them as a map of where to go. Those questions and their answers are what eliminate portions of infinity with intent.

Often, “the future” influences “the past.” What’s already been told changes because of what is being told later. There is a linear timeline in the story; but the way it’s written is definitely nonlinear.

Through what becomes impossible, the story becomes possible.

I am at the very beginning of this infinity elimination process for the next novel.

Yes, Log Me Tender isn’t officially out yet, and I’m talking about telling the next novel-length story. I wonder if it’s “bad business” to talk about the next one before the current one is “done,” but then I’m just kinda… not interested in “best practices” that don’t even work consistently. It’s not like me not talking about the next story will sell anything better.

There is nothing else I would rather be doing, other than telling stories. And besides, this one might not live. If I get overwhelmed by infinity, it will not live. Then I will have to choose some other dot out of infinity and try to connect that one to some nearby dot that makes sense, so on and so forth, until there is a full map.

This is the part of the storytelling process that really makes me feel like… Wow, I’m so amazing? Not in a “Gosh, this result here is already really fabulous and everyone will clap” way, but in a “You’re so weird you’re into this amorphous, murky, scary feeling of not knowing what the fuck you’re doing” way. How goshdarn amazing that I can try to map something that might not result in a map at all.

I do not feel this feeling through any other activity. This is something I only feel early in a story while knowing I have written plenty of stories, but things might not work out with this one.

If I had thought I would fail every time without fail, I wouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s boring to be sure of one’s successful failure.

Whereas, I am sure of neither my successful success nor successful failure.

It’s like skydiving while not knowing if the parachute will work this time. If it works, well, good. If it fails, well, too bad. Check out of this life. Try again next time.