I’m riding the rollercoaster ride that is my brain once again. I have ups, and I have downs. Right now, I’m in the down slope. Whether I’m heading down, have hit bottom, or have started climbing up the other side again, I don’t know. Lot’s of stuff going on in my head which causes me to write more or less, and I’ve said I want to share more, so that’s what I’m going to do. Yep. *Nods* Share. That’s me… Mister Share…
Have had several frank conversations about my publishing progress, or lack thereof, in recent days. A couple of ‘industry professionals’ (vagaries on purpose to protect the innocent) have taken a look at my urban fantasy, Into The Fire, and offered up zero insights except to say, “This is good. Can’t believe no one bought it.” *Runs hand down face* Really? No idea? Seriously? *Grumble-mumble-walks away*
I haven’t written squat in days. Except for that last sentence, where I clearly typed ‘squat’. Having people read and critique my stuff is causing undue stress that hasn’t been there before. I think it’s because of the details people get hung up on. (If you are one of those people, this isn’t me going after you or anything – just taking the path my brain likes to take into weirdness…) Like underwear in space/the future. Or choices of beverages in the past (can’t have ‘green tea’). Big things I can see. “Oh, you can’t have your future hero flying a steam engine in space because space has no steam or something mutter mutter SCIENCE gosh you’re stupid,” would be fine. I can deal with that. Telling me that I’ve completely borked some military thing in the space opera would be fine because, yeah, I am not in the military and am drawing from research, not personal experience, so I can totally see missing something there. But telling me that people in the future can’t wear blue jeans because that’s not enough worldbuilding on my part and I need to come up with some sort of synthetic material because, gosh, in the future, there won’t be any blue jeans – seriously?
(Created in 1873, jeans are still going strong 140 years later…)
Tell me I need to work on my voice because it’s too passive. Tell me I screwed up the placement of that comma. Tell me that the gist of my story isn’t logical because my main character is going against previously established character traits. All of these things – I can deal. The rest – I don’t know. It feels nit picky. It feels weird.
Maybe I’m making too much out of it. Maybe people are running out of things to critique.
Isn’t that a scary thought.