A man’s last resort.

I was having trouble with the fanfic I was working on.

(This is one I mentioned previously, but then I put it aside temporarily while I worked on my Summer_of_Giles submission for this year, which wound up being “the Uncanny Valley”.)

There shouldn’t have been a problem. I’d had the idea in the back of my mind for years while I worked on other things, spent plenty of time thinking about it (so I should have been set to go), started off readily enough and ran out 2,400 words in quick order. Then I realized I didn’t know what to do next. I had some good supporting material, and reason to believe I could easily turn out more … but, I gradually and unhappily came to understand, I had started writing without knowing what the story was going to be. Worse, I’d fallen into a trap against which I’d warned sroni at least 20 years ago: I didn’t have a story at all, I had a situation.

It was a promising situation. It should have been enough to spark ideas. But the few I’d had? just didn’t connect with me.

The situation called for desperate measures. So I took a radical step, the equivalent of stopping on a car trip and requesting directions from a stranger:

I asked my wife.

I showed her everything I’d written, and told her I had no idea where to take it from there. She asked a few questions, then started offering suggestions. The first three or four wouldn’t work (or at least I didn’t think they would), and then something clicked, and I think I’m going to be okay now.

I hope so, because I put my Man status in serious jeopardy.

These are the sacrifices I make for Art.