Where to Start?

The truth is, I have no idea how to write a story. Every time I try, it sounds like shit. Yet, here I am.

Trying to write stories.

Aspiring to write fiction that's actually worth something. Huh. Either God has a strange sense of humor, or I'm out of my league. Only one way to find out, I guess.

I just can't stand sounding terrible. Terrible, as in; mechanical, hollow, and weak. I might as well be throwing up on to the page. Or the keyboard. Well, how many bile-covered pages and replaced laptops until I can hold my stomach?

Is it fear? Self-doubt? Imposter syndrome? All of the above?

All this about character creation, plot, dialogue, narrative and so on. It's really just about playing God on a page. Who am I to think that I can do that? I already think I'm pretty special, so I'll just go inflate that ever-more, I suppose.

Is this really something I'm cut out for? If I can't barely begin without feeling immediate frustration, is that a red flag? If not, what color flag is it?

Maybe I've bought into the glamorization of it too much. Hank Moody put on such a good show of being a writer and boom. I'm sold. Sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll have some serious appeal. Who would have thought it could intersect with the craft of literature? Oh to think of Emerson and Thoreau turning over in their graves.

Perhaps I need to stop asking all these questions, and just write. The words aren't going to write themselves, anyhow. That's what writers are for. Beyond that, no need to take it so serious. There is plenty else in life that foots that bill.

If I get too serious about being a writer, then I really am not in the right profession. It must be about fun, joy, and passion. Very little, if anything at all, needs be about how I 'should' get to writing. Or I 'ought to' be writing. Or I 'better' get to it. That would be mechanical and dull. I'm not a machine. At least, I don't think I am.

AHA! And there it is. That very inquiry could be great material for a story. That is how it works. They just pop right out. Especially when you're not looking. I only need to be paying attention and listening. Therein lies the true depth of the process.

It's about receiving, and then translating. It's about transcribing what is, at first, entirely ephemeral. Write first. Analyze later. Right?

It also feels to be about not trying to be something I'm not. If what I'm writing doesn't sound like me at all, why would I try? Perhaps that is where I get stumped. I try and create characters or stories that do not even closely reflect my voice, my perspective, or something that may interest me.

And this whole thing about voice and point-of-view. First person? Third person? Active? Passive? Omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent. What does any of it mean?

Well, of course it all means something. And the greatest stories and writers have tapped in to what it means to them and how they can best utilize the tools available. It's not really that complicated. Or it doesn't have to be. It all takes practice, thus, here I am.

And it feels good. It feels right. Because here's the thing, I can't imagine creating in any other way. At least, not as effectively as I do here.

I would be naïve to think there won't be challenge, frustration, and resistance. Creation is forged through fire. All impurities must be burned off and hammered out. Rarely, if ever, will there be an Excalibur simply drawn out of stone. Even then, it takes proper readiness and strength.

Thankfully, writing is not necessarily drawing out Excalibur. I don't figure that it is, anyway. It's more so a slow uncovering. A steady dig into what's really down below. Below what? I'm not sure, but it sure doesn't lie on the surface.

That's the profundity of it. I'll never know by just staying at arm's reach. I have to get my hands dirty.