My brain has a regrettable feature: whenever it has a good idea, it tends to head into macrocreative territory.
For instance, I decided to write some short stories just for this blog, in order to prove that I am too a real writer, just in case anybody at Sasquan asks. I had one mostly done, and a couple of others baking nicely. And then my stupid brain got involved.
“A creative project?!?! I know how to do that! See, you actually want a cycle consisting of a dozen short stories (six thematically contrasting pairs), plus there’s a character who appeas through the entire thing – he can be the star of one story, but only one. Plus each story must contain a reference to a different story, so it all hooks together like a Lego Death Star, and can be read out of sequence. Make sure every single extra, walk-on and janitor has a Deeply Symbolic Name! Throw in some nods to your friends! Try not to take sides in any political kerfluffles or scandals that might result in badspam while desperately trying to court goodspam!”
And suddenly, I’m mentally on the hook for a tremendous pile of words, and probably a bloated spreadsheet. With thinking required, meaning I can’t just stream-of-consciousness-on-autopilot. Like I’m doing now, using only the cooperative and friendly parts of my brain, and not the ones that think they’re Busby freaking Berkeley. That, ladies and gentlemen, is why this novel I’m taking forever to write is taking forever. Macrocreativity has appeared, and I’m struggling with it. Defeated, yet again, by my own brain.
But anyway, I managed to finally let one story escape, and that is Purity Test. It’s about a unicorn, and a virgin, or actually a grad student who doesn’t have the time or energy for a relationship regardless of whether she’s ever had sex, it’s really none of my business. It seemed like an appropriate story for a maiden voyage.