Permission to play
So, then, I’ve written a first draft of a cyberpunk noir novella in, oh, 4 weeks?
That’s a record, for me.
I’m pretty pleased with what I’ve got, in this draft.
It’s dark and grimy, fully of alleyways and labyrinthine, neon-drenched geographies. Someone gets shot on the first page. There’s a conspiracy, a stark class divide, and a half-android Rottweiler named Ingrid.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a short draft, even for a novella. It’s not far over 35,000 words. Remember that week I cracked out 20k words? That was, clearly, a bit of a fluke. I was in the zone. It couldn’t last.
But I’m still calling this a draft, because it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It has an action-filled plot, and a soft-centred subplot. I can see my main character, how she walks, how she takes up space… Some writers end up with first drafts nearing 200,000 words, and then spend months agonising over how to cut that down to some semblance of marketability.
I think I’m accepting that I am not that kind of writer. Instead, I write short first drafts, with half-finished scenes and lots of [notes like this] to remind myself to go back and do something.
Do you know what else I’ve decided?
I’m going to lean into that. I’m giving myself permission to write short, snappy outline drafts that can be tinkered with and expanded and maneuvered into whatever form I eventually need them to be, later. I’m giving myself permission to daydream, to fall headfirst into these imaginary worlds so hard I want to talk to myself about them constantly over a few short weeks.
I’m giving myself permission to play.
Because I’ve been running in circles, trying to work out which novel idea I should work on, which my agent might like best (which won’t be a cyberpunk noir, trust me), and I’m getting in my own way.
Do you know the best thing this mucking about with dictation and iNotes has done for me? It’s reminded me how much I like writing. Making shit up, writing it down quick, and building words around it.
So I’m going to do that.