Maybe October and the whole Halloween connection influenced the mood of this excerpt. But then again, I ain’t exactly writing about butterflies and honeysuckle in this story. 😛
I’ve actually made very, very slow progress this month. Because, at first, I just blanked out and couldn’t figure out how to move forward in the story without jumping entire chapters altogether. And then I got so busy that I didn’t even have time to just double-click on the document and stare at it for a while in the hopes of being clobbered by inspiration if I stared at it hard enough. *Sigh!*
On the other hand, I have written more than two chapters now. So while I still have a loooong way to go, at least I’m not at a stand-still again. (And maybe being proud of completing two chaps is pathetic(?) — I don’t know — but I’m still proud of it anyway. So yay!) 🙂
Well, that’s all I really have to rant about this time. I’ve just been busy with completing actual paying projects and a number of other do-or-die (sort of) commitments recently. But hopefully this month will see more progress.
[Author’s Note: This is both a spoiler in some ways and yet not at all a spoiler. Because I myself am only a few chapters in. So, if anything, I consider any information I’ve revealed about the story a mere glimpse into what it might really be about.]
One of the stories I’m currently reading is Winter Woods, a manhwa I came across by accident rather than by any reference.
At the moment, the story’s progressing pretty slowly. And I’ve not even gotten half-way through it. But it’s damn interesting. (My penchant for tales with a deep psychological bent helps too.)
So. Here’s what I got so far:
It’s about an immortal “Frankenstein’s Monster” type character, who is alive in every scientific sense except one — He has no heartbeat. Emotionally and psychologically, though, one could almost say he isn’t alive at all. For, he reacts to external stimuli, but he has no idea what emotions are. He feels pain, but it looks as though he is just startled by it, even when subjected to it in extremes.
In a sense, he is like a child who has no moral compass whatsoever, or any social context. There’s no bias, no preconceived notions, no visible sense of right or wrong; there’s just curiosity. And it just makes the whole story so wonderfully nuanced!
There’s also plenty here to hint at past abuse and neglect, both from the being’s creator as well as from the scientists who found him and experimented on him for a while. In fact, this entire thing starts as a way for one of these current scientists/researchers to test out whether or not he could be brought “truly” alive — that is, both physically and emotionally alive. And the only one who isn’t aware of the scheme is the one they’ve deemed fit to be exposed to him and get him “alive”. (And, this person’s a writer, by the way. One who took him in because it looked like he had an interesting story she could get at. She is also the one who named him “Winter Woods”, as he told her that he had no name when they first met.)
Aside from that, there’s a serial killer in their midst whose trend might be mercy killings and suicide requests — but that’s not been fully confirmed yet. There is also a kind, blind woman who is in love with that serial killer but doesn’t find out about his “job” until later chapters. And there are other characters, backstories, and ominous foreshadowings sprinkled liberally throughout the story as well.
Hence, at the moment, with so much going on in the story already, I’m really enjoying it. 🙂
I have no idea whether other authors/writers of fiction/fantasy have this same problem, but I do: My head skips from one part of the story to another, a scene or chapter sometimes coming so powerfully into my head that not writing it would practically be writing-heresy. (And I say that because it might lead to me having writer’s block for ages before I can write something substantial again.)
But the problem is that sometimes I write a scene in the first chapter, and then I write a scene in the 25th or 30th chapter! And that means it’s even harder for my brain to backtrack and actually assemble the book in order. 😦 In fact, my head and my muse was all over the place, and I was basically running around trying to herd them into some semblance of order.
Hence, other than the usual bouts of procrastination and writer’s block — with both of them sometimes tag-teaming so that one of them becomes the reason for the other — I also dealt with forcing myself to draft the chapters in order — Even if I had scenes ready and written for later chaps. And that, at times, lead to days of no progress, because I was stuck at one particular point where I knew what happens precisely two or three paragraphs later, but not what happens in those two or three paragraphs!
Needless to say, there were quite a few gloomy days till I could push past that. *Sigh…*
Anyways, that’s all I wanted to rant about for the moment. (Any writers / authors / comic artists out there have this mind/muse jumping problem too?) Now, onward with the next excerpt:
If you act like something is normal long enough — like you actually believe it’s perfectly fine and possible and all right — then, no matter how unconventional or how not-normal it is, sooner or later, without realizing it, people will actually start acting like it’s normal too; or at least, that it’s perfectly normal and conventional for you, and thus a familiar thing.
That’s why patience and consistency is a special kind of power. It’s not something you write ballads about. Or history books. And it’s many times upgraded to sound like something more exciting and difficult like “determination” and “perseverance” and “fighting against impossible odds”.
It’s not something you write ballads about. Or history books. And it’s many times upgraded to sound like something more exciting and difficult like “determination” and “perseverance” and “fighting against impossible odds”.
Don’t get me wrong, though, it isn’t easy. And these upgraded terms aren’t off the mark. But they add a certain “loudness” to what is oftentimes a quiet battle that has no war-cries, weapons, or glory. Just a quiet, subtle, unremarkable victory that only the one waging the silent war knows they’ve won. And many times, even the one who started this silent war doesn’t notice the victory. Because there was no outright fight, just a quiet decision, and an even quieter follow-through.
It’s a really quiet kind of power. And greatly underestimated.