There are some people who take this decision very seriously. They get an idea and they think, “Can I really give this idea the attention it deserves?” They read everything they can to prepare for this fic, research exhaustively even while they’re writing the fic, because they don’t know everything to begin with, and hey, even if they did, things change. They look at their schedules and commitments and they plan. Boy, do they plan: outlines and regular updates and drafts. And because they know it takes a village, they have a legion of beta readers around to say things like, “Gosh, you’re doing a great job” or, “Are you mental?” as appropriate. But if all those pieces aren’t in place—if they know they don’t have the resources, the time or energy or what have you—they don’t write it. They say, “I would really love to do this, but I cannot do it justice right now. Maybe later, when I’m not working so much. Or when that beta who would be pitch-perfect for this project is free to commit to it. Or when I’ve read a bit more about it.”
And then there I am.
No planning. No preparation. No help. I just go, “Holy marigolds, what an idea! I’ve got to get this down!” without thinking about what it really means to try and create something whole and worthwhile. And after the initial rush has passed (which for me is about 400 words in)—when I have no idea what’s going on because I didn’t bother to do any research, sketch a plot, or ask someone, “Hey, I’ve never done this before, so how would you recommend dealing with the inevitable crisis?”—I throw my hands up, ignore the damn thing, and hope to god it’ll raise itself and get out my my hair before I accidentally spawn my next idea.
(Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.)
On the other hand, “when I’ve read a bit more about it” has its own set of dangers!
Also, the first paragraph of this post is why I will never have children. Too few of the concomitant research opportunities are of interest to me.
So here’s a question: how many started-and-still-languishing pieces are in your file? I’ve got four. Poor lil’ things.
HAHAHAHAHAHA I have 53 languishing WIPs in my Sherlock writing folder. Which is not counting the five that I consider to be actively ‘in progress’ (which are, for the record, Odalisque, Man Who Saved the World, Barrow Wight, the Serviceman sequel, and the fic I’m working on for the Johnlock gift exchange). I had more on this list, but I’ve had to pare it down and change my definition of ‘in progress’ to mean, “Have actually added words to sometime in living memory.”
Of the languishing WIPs, ones I absolutely refuse to consider abandoning include: Medecins Sans Frontieres (in which Sherlock is dead and John goes off to work in the Congo), Moonlight (a Hiatus-based Lovecraftian horror story), and the little bit of porn I started thanks to Reapersun’s latest glorious red-pants monstrosity. And all of them but no shhhhh let me pretend that I can prioritize.
I also have, oh, five or so in there that are ALL BUT FINISHED if only I could figure out how the damn things end. The Serviceman sequel, BTW, also falls in this category (two fucking scenes left! ARGH WHY). I think I should probably grab a friend and kick these around a bit.
(For the record, I don’t consider the No One’s Bitch ‘verse to be ‘in progress.’ It’s a series of snapshot fics, and it gets more when and if it chooses to cough something up for me.)