The Eldritch Path

  In a previous post, I illustrated my experience with NanoWriMo. The end result of this affair, for those that didn’t read the past article (it’s okay, I know how the internet is), was an incoherent mess of scattershot splattered prose applied to the digital page with the grace of monkey's throwing crap at a wall. It stinks, but the end result is that something stuck around. Despite a rambling and borderline stream of consciousness middle section, I found the beginning rife with potential. The story starts off strong enough, with a main character putting the whole collegiate board on blast before destroying his whole future in one unprovoked phone call. I took that central moment and expanded upon it, exploring their mental state after the event’s fallout, using it as a springboard to contextualize their relationship with the primary point of view character. I wanted to explore the concept of internal stress coloring one’s interactions with others and how unrelated tension can esc

  For the uninitiated, NanoWriMo is a yearly collaboration for creatives, traditionally pressed with the daunting quest of completing a 50000 word novel in the span of a single month. During the month, I conceptualized, outlined, and completed the task by November 30, creating a story that I like to refer to as a conceptual liminal horror.  The plot beat I constructed days prior to the event was an exploration of hologram theory. The idea suggests that the reality in which we live is a digital creation, a projection of information against a cosmic void in the same vein as transparent plastic paper was to classroom projectors back in the day (do they still use those? Am I carbon-dating myself?).  I started with a singular character, a shameless exaggeration of myself as a college student; a reclusive, aloof individual more concerned with their aspirational body of work than human interaction (look, I’m working on being more sociable, okay? Give me a break; I’m an ancient reptilian). Ove

Yesterday I read a book called Show Your Work, a wonderful piece of non-fiction that discusses the transparency of project work.  In its digital pages (I bought the Kindle version), Austin Kleon explores the importance of (what else?) showing your work.  This is quantified in the following terms: Put the process first, not the product Tell good stories Teach what you know Don't turn into human spam There are other topics discussed, but for the sake of brevity (and density of the contents within), I'll keep it to these for now.   Process First, Not Product I find this to be the most compelling part of the book.  In it, Kleon asserts that people enjoying watching the process of an artist, to the extent that a potential audience follows creatives who show 'how the sausage is made'.  Sharing stirring sentences within a book, for example, stimulates discourse and draws in a potential audience with the promise of intrigue.  No two artists work the same, after all, and reveali