The Darlings Are Meant to Die
And other lessons learnt n the continual pursuit of the bespoke.
[Something only you could do]
This is the singular sentiment that has been the driving force of all of my creative work for the last decade or so. This is more than a mere mantra. This is an aspiration. This is the gold standard. This is the five word mission statement that is carved into my eyelids, the words my hands have learned to type on instinct whenever there is writer's block.
At the start of the pandemic, my friend Adam and I reconnected and decided to reactivate the old network we used to share in undergrad. And thus enklings was formed (diginklings was my pitch, but enklings is the one that stuck), and for the better part of four years, every Monday, I've gotten into a Zoom or Discord call with good people, nay great people, and we've written poetry and we've played a lot of Smash or Pass with inanimated objects and concepts (I never would have thought I'd have so many words for why Smash Pawn but Pass King, or Smash Conjunction but Pass Interjection, but perhaps that's a different post).
I bring this up mostly because last week, we got to talking about what it meant to make something “not good” which in more than one perspective could be percieved as “bad" but I never had that philosophy. The anecdote that I shared than is the first I will share here.
[In the process of bottling lightning, you should get used to shattered glass]
I did my first NaNoWriMo, (National Novel Writing Month, a November tradition of trying to write 50K words in 30 days) as a sophomore in high school. It was not good by any stretch of the imagination, but the goal was never for it to be good. The point of it was to be done. There were parts that I became enamored with (which we’ll talk about in the next section), the most important thing was the habit, was the repetition, was the intention.
One thousand six hundred and sixty seven words every day on average. Sometimes less. Sometimes more. The act of doing something makes you better at it, at least insofar you get used to it. Sometimes you train bad habits. Sometimes you train good ones. But there has never been anything quite as helpful for leveling up as the act of just trying.
Thirty/Thirties for National Poem Writing Month. ScriptFrenzy. Weird alternative challnges liking writing a 1000 word microfiction story with a unique premise every day instead of NaNoWrimo that 1) you can probably still find on my tumblr at chimericnotion.tumblr.com and 2) was significantly harder than 50k words on a singular semi-coherent narrative.
The first draft is never meant to be a final draft. I write with the intent of getting words on the page. I write with a vague plan and see where I go. It’s gotten to the point where somethings are successful on the first go, but that’s largely because I’ve been vastly unsuccessful elsewhere. All of the work is useful insofar that is still work and that in the process of bottling lightning, you are working with something paradoxically sturdy and fragile and not everything will work out, but there is an acceptance that this is all in pursuit of lucking out/forging through the one idea that sticks. Although that does bring us to the lesson I already alluded.
[The darlings are meant to die]
I first heard your phrase “kill your darlings” in my freshman undergraduate fiction writing course. That word, that phrase, that idea you are enamored with is not necessarily what the work it originated from need. Your attachment to it does not intrinsically make it good (nor does attachment indicate badness), but you have to be critical.
Over the years, I’ve gotten used to the idea of killing darlings, of the aggressive cut and paste, or perhaps my perhaps variation of the metaphor: the dope-line graveyard where eventual necromancy forms. Some lines have eventually managed to become actual cornerstones of works I’m very proud of. Some remain phrases that bounce in my skull cap waiting to catalyze into something more substantial.
It certainly helps that my relationship with fictional death is odd. See how I’ve approached my tabletop role playing characters. See how many hours I’ve sunken into roguelikes and the Destiny franchise. I’m sure this probably speaks to my relationship with the actual concept of mortality, but we’re going to stick with creativity at the moment.
To return to the above metaphor, when you successfully manage to bottle lightning, it doesn’t necessarily mean it goes with the aesthetic of everything else around it.
I’m not sure how much farther I can take this analogy, so we’re just gonna ungracefully transition into the final section.
[Not everything is made to print/share/publish]
Mixed Media with Mikkel is brought to you with the same energy as all of my long running writing projects. Not concerned with getting perfect. Concerned with getting to exist. I’d call it a three stage itteration process. An ideation, an outline, a flow state. I take a lot of notes.
And this “newsletter” is written with the intent to share, but perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned since I’ve started writing writing in the sixth grade is that not evertyhing is meant to be seen by an audience. Some things we write for ourselves. Some things we write to exorcise them from our body. Some things we manifest such that we can burn a physical representation.
A lot of what I write is intended to be read. But not all of it. But as someone who wants to be read, that is still an impulse to have everything eventually make it out to the world, to be perceived, to be seen.
But some things I have learn to keep for myself. Sometimes it’s because those stories aren’t mine alone to tell. Sometimes it’s because it wouldn’t be “productive” to share. Sometimes it’s because the inner resolve is enough.
Ultimately though, I write because language is a magic trick, is an evocation, and a grand experiment in seeing what sequence triggers another sequence. The non-futuility of learning to capture the fleeting and say “here, this is what I have experienced and I am choosing to share it with you” whomever this “you” is depending on the context.