Reality

I have the strangest bit of writer’s block.

Well, to call it “writer’s block” is a bit of a misnomer. It is more of a crippling wall that I find myself behind.

Okay, let me backup a bit:

I am a fan of writing parts out of order. If I find myself stuck at an important part, I leave it alone for a bit, and move forward. I then go back to the part that I find myself stuck behind and hope that what I have done moving forward has either answered what I am stuck on, or given me an out.

The story I am writing right now involves a bit of physics that does not exist. It involves movement faster than light, which is empirically impossible (as of the writing of this journal) and shows no possibility of being conquered. So, in usual fashion, I started writing further into the story to fill out other ideas.

I wrote over 10,000 words when I hit another wall showing me that I need to, at least, fudge the concept into some kind of in-universe reality. The part that makes it so hard is that I am trying to keep the world that I have built at least KIND OF realistic. It involves science that does not exist: it involves science that we want to exist. This means that I have a lot of information that would not work, and what makes it MORE frustrating is that if I try to use the thing that doesn’t work, people will quickly debunk it and the story becomes tainted.

I know that I am putting too much faith into the reading community. I should just write something and stop worrying if it makes sense. I should just ‘yadda yadda’ the movement thing when it comes up in the future. I should have written something easier.

I is not that brite an’ is no gud at riting.

Unfortunately for me, and my back account, I am an arrogant fucker who wants to create something that warrants respect. I am sick of being the “guy who helps do stuff” and I want to become someone worth a damn.

Speaking of being worth a damn, did you want to be in the thank-you section of the book that I just spent the top portion of this post bitching about? Donate as little as a dollar to my Patreon a month, and that will happen! It also helps me keep this blog going for another year. I mean, it will anyway: the monetary gain just makes it worth it.

Lack of Inspiration

I haven’t written in days. I finally figured out how to save my latest work-in-progress and I just haven’t had a spark to write. Yes; I do see the irony in writing how I have no clue what to write but I feel like I need to do something.

That comes off wrong: I want to write something, and I have this blog figured out. Yet, when it comes to my next book, I have a tonne of ideas but no clue how to work them into a coherent plot. I am hoping that me writing this will allow me to look at what I have so far in a different light.

What am I writing?
It’s an investigative reporter for a paper talking to a man who thinks that he might be immortal. He thinks this because he has survived several no-way situations that he recounts. I have an ending figured out, I have written about 4000 words, not including the ending. I am just stuck on figuring out how to progress from where I am.

To be completely honest, it would make a great short story in the form it’s in right now. I actually started writing it as an ansP, but it snowballed and now I am determined to write it out fully. The best part about it is that I can be the investigative reporter and point out holes that I can see in my own story through the eyes of a person trying to get his article out of this man. I haven’t jumped into that idea yet, but I have already noticed at least one point that I can ride.

I know that I have championed the idea of writing everything that comes to mind down on something, and I do that (thus this post). One thing I have not written about, because I have never actually experienced it, is writers block.

To be totally honest, I am not sure if what I am currently experiencing constitues writers block. I have ideas for where I want the story to go, I am just not sure on how to make it go there.

With that said, I am only 4000 words deep. I could scrap it, but I don’t want to. I have given myself a year to complete this work, and I am going to give myself at least that long to try. I am going to go ahead and write something new if a new idea comes to mind.

I actually started flushing out Martha. not too long ago. I had an idea on how to flush out that world, and I like some backstory ideas that I had for that. The main issue that I found is that I know how I would want it to work out as a show, but a book I was having a hard time keeping it interesting without leaning on exposition and inane description.

Early release

I have sent out Patreon’s there copy of the next anewsin today. I know, it’s a day early, but I am equal parts excited and forgetful! I have a feeling that if I wait until tomorrow, I will forget.

Anyway, that got me thinking: why base an income on crowd funding? It’s very unreliable, kind of awkward, and kind of needy. Fuck knows that I hate asking for donations all the time. I hate having to set myself time limits to make sure that I live up to my end of the bargain.

Patreon is better than most of the others because I can offer a service for a little bit of money. Like, right now, $1 a month will get you a subscription to anewsinPublications and that will mean you get a link to a PDF one month before the story becomes available to the public! I think that’s hekin’ swell!

Some will argue that there is no point, and I won’t fight that. The stories do come out eventually, and they are always free. BUT! If you donate you make sure that my pets get fed! WHO DOESN’T LOVE MY PETS! (dontanswerthatbecausenoonethatswho)

There are other levels of donation. I cannot do cents, but $5 a month makes you the villain in a story I write, $6 makes you the hero (or at least the main) and stuff like that! There are so many new and exciting things that I want to write in the future! Please help me make that a reality!

Martha {ANEWSIN VOL. 6 — Jason Garden}

The journey continues into the cold, empty void of space. Martha’s voyage takes her far beyond the scope of what we have explored.

She leaves another mark faintly with a pencil on the metal of the cockpit wall. One for every 24 hours she is contained in this cage.

Space is a horrible place to be left alone. She started this voyage in hopes of finding someone, or something. When traveling at 95 percent the speed of light with no objects nearby, one loses track of everything: speed, direction, purpose and reason. Her metal sarcophagus continues to drift through the great beyond.

“Just remember that your mission is knowledge for the masses. Not recognition. Not praise. ‘The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.’ You can do this.” Martha keeps repeating this to herself under her breath. She is alone with her thoughts. It would cost the agency too much to send anyone else on such a journey.

Recon and Discovery. That was her only criteria for the mission. She knew that it sounded too easy to be a good thing. One would imagine that sitting in front of flashing lights and knobs for hours would be the furthest thing from mentally taxing, but that is far from the case. There are times when she cannot remember not staring at them. There is a disconnection between reality and dreams. Just the other day, for instance, she saw everything go wrong: lights lit up warning of hull breaches and oxygen leaks. It was just a dream. She awoke to a completely ordinary spread in front of her.

Martha took this position with the promise of discovery, she took the job in spite of her dreams of reading over ancient texts discussing the possibilities of dragons. She wanted to better everyone, or at least she thought she did. She had to keep reminding herself that this was all to better the human race.

“The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding. You’re a fucking hero.” She was starting to question her beliefs.

It was clear at one time why she took this torch. She wanted to find something new in this vast universe. She could not believe that we are all alone. It would not make sense. She has been in the metal sarcophagus for over 100,000 hours so far, and found nothing. To assume that she would find the same in the next 100,000 hours is insanity.

She wasn’t expecting something as advanced as the human race. The idea of a civilization as developed as us in the same ways seems arrogant. The only way that could be possible is if there was some sort of agreement that we would remain ignorant on purpose, because we are a snapshot of evolution. She could not fathom that to be true for this long, unless it hasn’t been long in the grand scheme of everything.

We are just arrogant enough to think 300,000 or so years is impressive. Martha dwells on her view of the situation and realizes the irony in her declaration of arrogance.

Just then, the console lights start flashing. It is just like in her dreams. Martha feels the surge of sweat beads pouring from her brow as she scrambles to react to every warning. Then, something she was not expecting: the front window opens slowly to reveal a launch command centre.

“Martha.” A man with a name tag that reads Jacob is speaking loudly to get her attention. “Martha, you’re okay.”

The lights are bright. She is in a large metal panel room. For a moment, she wonders if this is what happens after death. Martha is faced with her own mortality for the first time that she can remember.

“Okay, she’s not calming down. We need a debriefing team here on the…” Jacob was mid sentence when Martha’s brain shut down.

When she comes to, Martha is in some sort of hospital room with only “Jacob” by her side, sitting on a white stool.

“What happened?” Martha massages her face with her hands. “Where am I?”

“That was a simulation, Martha.” Jacob starts to talk disregarding her condition. “That was the seventh one that you have been a part of. We tried something different, remember? The last one was too muddled with delusions flashing back to prior events, so you went into this with your mind blanked.” Jacob’s voice is calm and he is doing everything he can to be deliberate with his words.

“Why would I agree to that? None of this makes sense, and it seems unnecessary.” Martha could feel rage building inside of her. She felt as if she has been tricked. She felt like this “trial” was just a financial burden on the agency, and a mental burden on her.

Jacob did not say a word and swiftly pulled a recorder from his pocket and pressed play.

“This is Martha. I understand that my mind will be cleared in hopes of bettering the practice. This recording is to be presented to me if I question the practice when I wake up.”

“That was you just the other day.” Jacob said with a slight of empathy in his voice. “The idea was yours. We all thought it brilliant! We did see the flaws, however. So we asked you to make this tape to prove the procedure to yourself in the event you would need to.”

Martha leaned back into the pillow and locked her eyes to the ceiling.
“If we’re done for now, I’d like to sleep.”

“Of course.” Jacob got out of the chair, nodded his head, and turned towards the door. He stopped. “I just want to tell you, because you may not remember me saying it before, but I am honoured to be working with you.”

Jacob shut the door behind him. Martha’s head started to fill with ideas and worries that were not answered so far.

I know of this time, but is this the first time? How many times have I been in through that procedure? What is the mission even about?

Martha’s eyes welled with tears as she thought of the most daunting of all of the ideas.

Did any of that happen? Or was I just told that it happened?

I am proud to announce that this was edited by the amazing Luka Riot! Because of fantastic donors over at Patreon, I am able to employ her for ansP editing. I hope her and I work together for a long time.