On and off this past week or two, I’ve been working my way through “The Road To Amber”, the last volume of NESFA Press’ collections of all of Roger Zelazny’s short stories. It’s a mix of standalone stuff, several fragments he wrote to tie up some loose ends of Amber and figure out where he’d go with a third series, and some nonfiction essays of his, and some stuff about his life.
There was a bit in there about his writing practice: every work day, he would require himself to sit down and write at least three sentences, and he would require himself to do this four times a day. If all he got out of a particular day was twelve discombobulated sentences, that was okay. And something in me said, huh, that sounds like an interesting exercise. So instead of closing the book and going to sleep, I got up and went to the computer, opened Illustrator, and doodled something using the same vibes as that Piranesi-inspired image I did a couple months ago. And then I made a new artboard, and thought I was going to do another take on that image, but instead I found myself making a big text box and just… typing. No editing, no rephrasing, whatever comes out of my fingers is what I have to work with, typos and all. Well, maybe a couple of typo fixes. But not many.
man what the fuck. That sure was a transmission from Death’s Radio right there. I’m going to bed. I gotta get up tomorrow morning and try to take a cat to the vet to have her persistently scabby nose looked at. Maybe I’ll look at this again tomorrow and it’ll suck. Midnight free-writing is allowed to suck.