I’ve not yet started and panic rears its ugly head. Not for this issue of insanity, but for the long run. Will I run out of ideas or time first? Will there be too many ideas unrealized for lack of time? Or will I run out of ideas to fill time? Shortage of either will doom what I envision for this endeavor.
My bet is on running out of time. That’s a short-run assessment. Already I feel the pinch of routine snipping away at the time reserved to put down a decent daily visit, to say nothing of reworking old material and forging new iron. Maybe when the routine of normal life – brushing teeth, mowing lawn, sleeping, eating, and other mundane but necessary chores requires less planning, the process of “setting-up” demands less time, and I develop a rhythm, there will be more time to do things “writing.”
Assuming, happily, that, then, the worry for running out of material looms. Right now, the likelihood of that is difficult to assess. I can sustain a rant-blog. No problem there. All I have to do is observe life around me, given that I’m an angry hard-nosed (some say “black-and-white” whatever the hell that means) old coot (gave up on tolerance and forgiveness a while back) and I’m off to the races. As much fun as that is, it wears thin even for me and it has limited marketability – which, as my generation, um, ah, suffers attrition, will quickly be miniscule.
Youth wants vampires, werewolves, and/or Gothic romance. Can’t do either. Sorry, Joe. Sci-Fi would be fun, but my idea of sci-fi is rooted in Asimov, ignores superheroes, and my ability to imagine what an alien man or woman would look like or think seems woefully out-of-step with currently popular ideas. I’d like to do sci-fi, because less is required in the way of research, but I know, or strongly suspect that’s not where I need to go.
That leaves me with anecdotal stories, conversations, vignettes, observations, and shorts, all seasoned with (for some) too much “adult” and (for many) difficult to follow multi-level meaning. Sorry, I have a fairly poor opinion of the bulk of modern readers. Maybe my audience is sixty-plus, beer-drinking males just off the ZTR, themselves torqued over a run-in with a twenty-something airhead (male or female, they both exist, you know) who is in a position to screw-up his life. Right now, unless I live to be one hundred and four, I’m good.
One last thing on parting this evening. Monetization. Ugly word. Means at some point I might look to subsidize my meager earnings, by asking folk who want to read my drivel to pay for it. If you think that disturbs you, take heart in that it really rattles my cage. But ‘free’ violates’ a principle I’ve held essential from day one. Relax. We’ll see. But if you’re like me, cheap, get it while the (free) getting is good.