I prefer happiness

My present story draws to a close in first draft. Tonight I faced up to the gap in the ending. So I delved a bit deeper into the technology that the plot depends upon (“gene sensors”, “neuroplasm” and, my favorite of the week, “prion-based self-assembly”, inspired by the latest discoveries in how prions may be useful to humans by clumping like proteins together; anything to avoid a nanotech which would distort the crucial biotech tale I have to tell). Finally, I was rewarded with a crisp clear image of the natural course of events over the next few thousand words.

Then I reread my most recent earlier attempt at the same material for clues for the whole story. The earlier version has good stuff I am loath to abandon. Some is clearly for latter stories, but the scene where a three year old superkid drops the B-word on his father like a bomb is too funny to exclude. The story will come in at the ten thousand word mark, which makes it a pleasant enterprise to read, and a good start for me.

I am happy to botch up this ending. If it's worth doing at all it's worth doing badly at first. I also want to write the ending with due care. It would be nice to have it ready to show my best mate Dan when he arrives to visit my town in a few days.

I am wary of applying any kind of pressure to the process, happy to simply let it be what it is. If I pin my hopes on my excellence as a writer I will surely be disappointed, but if I locate my source of contentment in the process of working itself, then I will be happy. Trying to force things in any way is associated with unhappiness in my mind, I find that seeing things realistically tends to generate the required level of enthusiasm, care, and decisiveness. And even if this is not true, I prefer happiness.