Sometimes I catch myself complaining about how little I get to sleep, and how tired I feel in the morning. But then I remember that the night before, I was up role-playing with a friend, or just talking about plans for later in the week. This type of role-playing, for those who might not know, is a form of storytelling in which two (or more) parties take on the role of a character and, through descriptive text, much like elaborate stage direction, and conversation, lay out a situation and act it out. In this case, my friend and I each have a character of our own design, as the story focuses on the two, and over the past four months, it has turned into something quick and frivolous into a half-painted canvas. Our writing is filled with the colors that paint this world, and these people who reside in it. The universe is our clay, and gradually we mold it to our liking. From what we believed would be a silly one-off like so many of the things we would write, our story developed, and is developing, into its own being, rich with mythos, foreign races, fantastical creatures, and culture. I’m finding myself only increasingly excited about what is to come, where our paths will take us in this new land, and about the ultimate end of it all, when we transfer our writing into novel form. The two of us hope to have it published at some point, and personally, I have gracious amounts of faith in this one.
This is going to be the one, I think to myself. I’ve never felt so attached to a story-line.
However, I feel neglectful of my other original characters; the more well-rounded ones whom I’ve been working on for over five years. They’re just lying in wait for an actual plot to fall in place for them. I started writing an introduction for them two months ago, but then I stopped again, and never really finished. I lost motivation for that track, and found myself immersed in this beautiful new world I had created with my friend. So it seems my older characters will continue to wait. Waiting and waiting until I find the motivation and the experience level needed to complete the world they live in.
For now, I have a world to continue building. I suppose, in all truth, that a world is never truly done being built. There are too many facets to what makes a society to ever be able to call it “finished.”
And so we will write.
We’ll write, and we’ll draw, and we’ll map this increasingly intricate universe until we can truly call it habitable and dynamic.
(I think I may start posting bits and pieces from it. Little excerpts from the story onto my blog.)