Day 99: Not Going Back: The Story of Chucking Things

I have decided not to continue the story of Yeralt and Artificial Life. At least, not in this venue. The ideas are too broad and need to be fleshed out. Trying to create an interesting world and an interesting story in one day is a little too much right now. Additionally, I don’t want to put my fan(s) through the rough draft process of a long short story. I’ll stick to the flash fiction from now on.

Onward to the point of the title:

There is a line in the movie, The Weather Man, with Nicholas Cage. His father is played by Sir Michael Caine. David Spritz (Cage) is a fairly big-time weatherman for a news station in Chicago. Despite his accomplishments, he still strives, as a forty-something adult, to impress his father who is a famous author. Spritz, before the time period of the movie, attempts to write a novel. It’s terrible. It’s unfinished. His ex-wife hates it and his father does his best to easily say that it is not good. While he is attempting to tell his son what he thinks of the book, Spritze tells him he “chucked it.” (It’s an odd phrase used commonly throughout the film, probably for comedic effect. Things are “chucked” at Spritz in the street. Fast food items mainly. But, back to the point, he tells his father he chucked it.) He had finally realized that writing wasn’t one of his main talents and deleted the digital file. It’s a cathartic scene for Spritz, coming to the realization about all the things in his life that he screwed up and cannot change.

Then his father approvingly nods and says, “In this shit life, we must chuck things. We must chuck them.” Despite the brashness of the line and the scene, he makes a wonderful point about things in life.

I have a hard time starting stories and not finishing them. There is always one good reason or another for chucking a piece of art and starting over, but for many years it bothered me. It bothered me that I wasn’t becoming the write I envisioned myself to be. It bothered me that I kept getting stumped on short stories, either because it ended up being cliche (in my mind) or I just got bored with the story and characters. Much like the story about Artificial Life, the point of the story gets lost when it goes on for too long; it becomes a mini-novel lost in description because I am worried about helping the reader envision the world. But my stories are not about the world. I was never much good at science-fiction. My stories — well, my good stories — are usually about real life with real characters and real emotions. And when I dig too deep into the setting and the concept then I get bored.

So, I’m chucking it for now. Here’s how the rest of the story was going to go: Yeralt would get addicted to Artificial Life. He would start to develop memories of those lives and become even more attached. I thought that maybe the addiction would be widespread throughout his civilization to the point that they had to shut down Artificial Life. Also, it would have been interesting if Yeralt found a way to identify real people of his kind inside of Artificial Life. And those relationships would carry on into the real world, and that is what breaks the addiction. It could be good if done right, but that will take a lot more than one-day blogs.

“Ain’t no one got time for that!”

What I am learning through this process of writing something creative and complete every day is that at some point I have to accept a piece as it is and let it go. Obviously, some posts are better than others. Some are reaching for a different audience than others. Who reads these and who enjoy them are things I cannot control. And giving up control of art is scary, either through publication or into the abyss of Word files. Throwing something away makes me feel like a failure. But what is important is that I try again the next day. And the next and next until I reach my goal.

Chucking things in life is necessary because, despite our aspirations, we cannot do everything. If we want to become great at something, it requires time and practice. And not everything is going to be worth that time. I have to decide what to do with that time, that finite ticking clock, the ultimate currency in life. Chucking things is not necessarily giving up; it is deciding that something else I could be doing is more valuable to my life. And, right now, I would rather be writing poetry.

We should never feel bad about changing course and getting rid of the baggage. Life is fluid, a grand river we get to float on for a while, navigating the rapids. Unfortunately, there’s only so much that can fit on the raft.

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Author's Note #1: R.I.P. Kobe Bryant. I will always think of you while I jump-shot a wad of paper into a trashcan from across the room. "Kobe!"