Snuck another half-shift working on Antithesis today, in between classes at a workshop I’m taking. The world and story are growing and taking shape in my mind. This afternoon solutions to a couple of narrative obstacles popped into my head in an “OMG, why didn’t I see that before” kind of way.
And, hopping between Suave Rob and Antithesis today also uncovered something that I never quite appreciated about myself:
I love writing all my stories. I enjoy them, I’m happy to have told them, and I’m frequently cackling like a demented demon while I’m typing gleefully into the magic reader-torture-construction box…um…I mean, word processor.
But, even with all that, something happens when I’m writing science fiction. I somehow feel like a real writer. Even though I’ve written more mystery than any other genre, it’s when I write science fiction–especially science fiction in Universe Prime (which is what I call this future-history timeline) that I feel like I’m really doing things right.
I don’t know exactly why this is. Maybe these stories are more special to me, but I don’t buy it. Maybe (and I think this is more likely), these stories have been cooking for too long and they’re trying like hell to push their way out of my skull.
But, whatever it says about the twisted cobweb-riddled attic that comprises my soul, it does mean one thing: The year in front of me, filled as it is with writing and podcasting the rest of the Antithesis series, is gonna be an amazing one.
And now I’m seriously itching to start in on this thing as my main focus.