Plotting vs Discovery: Oh the pain

Okay so I’ve been on extended leave here lately, from the blog, writing, hell, the world!  As we often do, I’ve had a lot on my plate and my mind and I’ve come to the realization that I THINK TOO MUCH!  This applies to so many aspects of my life, which I won’t go into here, but I will talk about how it has applied to my writing.

Though a proud Scorpio am I, I’m very Gemini when it comes to storytelling.  Part of me is a plotter, that can map out a story from start to finish, tying up all the seemingly loose ends into neat little bows of satisfying resolution that speaks to my utter genius and are the best, not only, reason to believe I tower above mere mortals!  Ahem…  Sorry, had moment of megalomania.  The other side of this dueling personality disorder (I think I just invented said disorder but I likes it.  It’s mine, unless I didn’t then, good on ya PHD-type who did) is the discovery writer.  This is the personality that wrote the Muse series and is really the strength of my writing.  In this mode, I am truly happiest as a writer.  The work flows and writing, which many of you know can be very hard at times, becomes the easiest thing in the world.  It’s as easy as talking.

And these personalities really do duel it out.  My discovery writer likes to take a wazz on the plotter’s outlines and lead the characters off to the corner where they all take hits of acid while painting graffiti which depicts the plotter in an unnatural union with a well endowed donkey who, for some reason, looks a lot like Jimmy Carter with a big, “raping you in the ass” grin.  Fuckin’ acid man.  The plotter then throws his hands up in the air and decides to grab all the inspiration which he puts in a jar that is wrapped in duct tape and held prisoner in a dank cellar where he forces it to watch hours of Family, Adult Swim and porn with him.  Strange that the plotter is the creepy one here, right?

So, lately, I’ve kicked the plotter in the nuts and locked him in the basement, with NO Family Guy or Adult Swim, though I would never fully deprive him of porn.  He is a guy after all and I’m not so cruel.  In his absence I’ve let the discovery writer take over again.  It’s been like masturbation in the first few weeks after a break up.  “Just you and me again buddy, like the old days.  We don’t need anyone else.”  Yeah I get that there is a general theme here which may or may not be related to those unspoken aspects of my personal life I vaguely alluded to earlier.

Okay now, even if I make no more masturbation references, everything I way will be tainted for you and, I do apologize for that. 

I will say that letting the discover writer take off has been interesting.  I’ve revisited some old short stories and polished them up.  And I’ve done some very satisfying work on a zombie short story which might turn into a series of shorts in the genre.  What is funny is that I keep catching the discovery writer sneaking down to the basement to confer with the plotter.  I only suspected this at first but then I heard the distinctive sound of duct tape being ripped off his mouth followed by a string of curses that would make Dice Clay take notes.  Such a potty mouth on that plotter.  I won’t say that I’ve found any kind of balance and I really don’t care.  I’m writing again and it feels good, like it used to. 

I tend to start plotting when I worry that the story won’t be resolved.  I doubt myself.  The truth is, my best resolutions have been eureka moments in discovery mode where I found some loose random thread that was only added for color or theme earlier in the story that now ties back into the story in a way that creates a seamless circle of even greater genius than I ever thought I had. 

And instead of megalomania, I’m somehow humbled.  These moments are why I write.  It’s a high that no drug could give and I’m truly in awe of having tapped into a magic far greater than me.  And my muse smiles and caresses my cheek as only she may, her eyes full of pride and love.  This is what she wants for me and she will torture me and trick me to get me on the right path to find these moment of purest Zen. 

And on that note, no more blog series for awhile.  I’ll be writing about whatever is floating atop froth in the churning waters of my imagination.  You’ve been warned.  Oh, and there will be more masturbation jokes.  Sorry.

Listening to: My Chemical Romance- Heaven Help Us