I want to write a story that hits you like a shiv to the gut. I want to get inside your head and fuck with your shit. I want to take a thing that seems familiar and make it seem weird and new.

I want to finish this story; this novella; this book. I want to do better, creatively, professionally, strategically. I want to figure out this blogging things and deliver better content here. I want to get more stuff out there. I want to do more with the stuff I’ve already written.

I want to write a bunch of stuff I haven’t had a chance to write yet: a comic book; a short-story collection; a whole host of story ideas on my hard drive. A whole bunch of novels that I still don’t quite know how to pull off. I want to walk into a bookstore and see a bunch of books with my name on it on the goddamn shelf.

I want to get better at setting. At character. At plot. I want to eliminate the bad habits and repeated phrases from my work. I want to get better at explaining the things I know and finding out more about the things I don’t.

I want to lose twenty kilos and start handling the sleep apnea better than I currently am. I want to cook more, and cook better. I want to keep my apartment cleaner and do my laundry regularly. I want to get my shit together. I want to make my bed every day. I want to work my way towards circumstances where I can write more and work less.

I want to pay off my mortgage. I want a cup of coffee. I want breakfast in my favourite cafe with good friends and good conversation.

I want to be better at taking chances and trusting that things will be okay. I want to get better at asking for help when I need it, and offering help when I’m in the position to do so.

I want to get down to Melbourne more often, to see the friends I dearly love and miss. I want to worry about money less. I want to see more of the world.

I want a lot of things and none of it seems reasonable, when taken in the agregate. That’s the nature of being in writing, in art, in any creative pursuit. The things you want are outside the space that’s set aside for reasonable pursuit. They do not fit logically into the way our world works.

But that doesn’t stop the wanting. It doesn’t stop you cataloguing the lists of wants and reviewing them, over and over, until they make you crazy.

These wants are my goddamn mountain, but it’s not about the wanting. It’s about figuring out the way to get closer and doing what comes next. Sometimes those steps aren’t easy. Those times those steps are risky. Sometimes the path forks and you’re not entirely sure which one is going the way you want.

So long as you keep going forward, things will be okay.

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PeterMBall

Peter M. Ball is a speculative fiction writer, small press publisher, and writing mentor from Brisbane, Austraila. He publishes his own work through Eclectic Projects and works as the brain in charge at Brain Jar Press.
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