I think I’m entering the zone of “what the fuck”, and this is whre it gets fun. This is where it gets interesting. I’m tempted to pour myself a glass of whiskey, but perhaps I should just keep going.

Earlier at dinner I was watching Robert Mckee talk about Story. He talked about a whole bunch of things that interest me. How some people become master craftsmen but don’t really have anything to say, and how some people have something to say– and usually end up developing some degree of technical proficiency in the process.

I’m definitely not a master craftsman and I don’t think I should ever claim to be– nor do I really aspire to be. Even after all of this– after I am willing to say that I love writing and would like to devote my life to it– I’m more interested in figuring out how to come up with better things to write about than I am in figuring out how to write specific things well. I think that’s why I get so frustrated with tactics-driven perspectives on writing. It misses the forest for the trees.

Robert also talked about dialogue, and how bad dialogue is often repetitive because people can’t figure out the best way to say the thing that they want to say. I realize that I’m incredibly guilty of this. I have been repeating myself over and over again throughout these vomits and throughout my life. Perhaps I’m hoping that if I repeated myself enough, eventually I’ll find a way. And that’s another classic observer-participant problem. The reason that the repetition is supposed to give way to the elegant solution is that I’m supposed to eventually spot some pattern, eventually get annoyed or frustrated in some way, or eventually just accidentally mis-copy what I was going to copy, and in that moment there is some sort of Eureka. I can sort of get that, I can sort of surrender to that process.

Perhaps at the end of the million words, what will be interesting is to then see how much it can be compressed into. It seems like generally things can be compressed into about a tenth of the space, so that means maybe a hundred thousand words. And if then there is still some repetition I might be able to compress it further still. An exciting prospect, but I’m getting way ahead of myself. What matters is that I get this moment right, right here right now. And all of this is just practice. All of this is just notes, just warmup, rehearsal. I’m rehearsing so that when the moment comes and I have something really important to write, I don’t get intimidated or overwhelmed by the moment. I deliver, as professionals do. I create the magic, I create the music, as I’ve done the rote work a million times before.

Robert also talked about the importance of having something to say, having some insight into human behavior, havin something you care about, knowing what is the art in you (rather than obssessing about yourself in the art– like people who want to get into showbiz because they think it’s glamorous or whatever). I will confess– I expect that I will get some sort of recognition when I cross a million words. It’s a newsworthy event to some people. I don’t think anybody has ever sat down and deliberately attempted what I’m doing– that’s part of why I’m attempting it.

But if I could either have the work and nobody recognize me for it, or get that sort of recognition by chance on some existing piece of work, I would prefer to have the work. I have no existing piece of work that really thrills me. Everything is incompetent. Everything is subpar. And maybe everything will always be subpar, but I’d like things to be subpar in a progressively better way. I was scanning through some of my writing from 2009 and I can decisively say that it was boring drivel– the sort of unimaginative, simplistic stating-of-the-obvious that I now find cumbersome and tedious when I encounter it.

And I can pertty much be assured that I will find this tedious and boring too in a few years’ time. Maybe even in a year, if I am prolific and reflective enough. And the idea of that excites me, thrills me. I can’t wait to get sick of my own work because I’m producing things that are so different, so fresh, so new. Not necessarily original, nothing is original– but something that’s interesting, something that’s actually worth considering, that adds value to the world. First to me– first I need to add value to me. I need to write for myself and figure out what I want to see written.

Oh yeah, Rob Mckee again– he taled about how dialogues were repetitive and they’d go through the same beats- people responding with the same intensity to the same thing, and cycling through over and over. I have a hunch that a great taste for story will also compel people to bust out of ruts, because getting stuck in a rut forever is a boring story. Stories arise out of conflict. So what is my conflict, and how do I reach a breakthrough? If I’m stuck, what’s holding me back, and what should I be attacking?

Story then can be used as a thinking tool for navigating a situation. Who’s the hero? Me. Who’s the “damsel in distress”,  or what is “the holy grail”? Peace of mind, joy, happiness, big movements of dance. Awareness. Clarity. Who’s the villain? My saboteur, the status quo, things that are boring. Who is my bringer of supernatural aid, who is my Gandalf? In a sense, my boss. In another sense, my peers. In another sense, my wife. In another, all of science and knowledge, the better animals and judgements of our nature. Everybody who’s ever written a book or made a video in support of the person I am trying to become. Les Brown and MateusZ and everyone.

What is the struggle to be undertaken, what is the call to adventure? To put away my distractions and to scrutinize my life intensely, as if it were a puzzle, without giving up, without giving in. How will I keep going?

One word at a time.