Writing for me has exactly two moods:

1. Absolutely uncontrollable drive to Do, every second of every day monopolized by (bare minimum) planning what scene I’m writing next, every spare second spent writing what’s next down
2. A constipated attempt to get something out

I don’t lose myself in watching TV. Even the most fascinating shit is a buzz in the background, a weird subliminal charge that often assists in pushing me through a normal day, and sometimes does not. I can often lose myself in reading, but often something will Strike! and force me to abandon it for a keyboard of some kind, be it my Neo or (god forbid) this trap of sitting down with the whole fucking internet before me.

Hopefully, the first thing I will do is write.

This is why, when baby writers come to me and ask how to “start writing,” I tell them to reread one of their absolute favorite books. Then they look at me like this is a trap. Like I must be gatekeeping something, when honestly, this is the absolute least gate-kept step of the whole fucking thing. Especially if you’re planning to traditionally publish; I’ve only gotten over the first hurdle of that recently, and it was a doozy. Two years and four books in, I’ve partnered with an agent.

I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing if I could, because

1. The idea of “changing things” that have already happened confuses the fuck out of me. I’m trapped in this linear timeline just like anyone, and asking me “what I would change” always feels just too silly. Maybe it’s because I write Science Fiction-e things, though I’ll def say they ain’t exactly “hard” scifi.
2. What if it prevents where I’m at now? Forget not being born, I feel like I obviously wouldn’t mind that, having not been born to mind anything. But what if it prevents right now, which is really the only place “I” am capable of existing, anyway?

We are getting so, so off topic.

My point is, the fucking lost-in-it thing happens to me only when it comes to writing. Even when it begins to happen elsewhere, this is just a funnel. It all leads back to these complex fiction experiments, this typing thing I do.

And I guess what I was trying to get at with the off-topic is that this is the best.

This is the best! The best part. The thing I’m here for. It is unavoidable the same way living linearly is. It is not a part that can be removed. In a world where I cannot type, I would force my fucked up hands to do that long-hand thing. In a world without that, put me back down that linear timeline. Give me a cave and some red rocks. I’ll crush that shit down and make those little illustrations, those parts of spoken stories we will never know the whole of, but we still look at the art they used to organize them centuries later.

My agent said, “Yes, you,” like, what? Ten seconds ago? It rocked, don’t get me wrong! I loved it. But like anything and everything else, it’s a funnel. It’s all part of what leads me to this. I am fucking blessed to know exactly what I’m here to do.

I am fucking cursed to have to do it, haha.

No. Nah, really. I love it I need it. It’s me, it’s the way I relate to the world, and the way it relates to me. It all leads back to this.

So perhaps I take issue with the “lose yourself in” part of this.

Maybe that’s on me. Maybe I lose myself everywhere but here. But I feel like this reversal is what the question was insisting on. I feel like these days, when someone asks what you “lose yourself” in, they are asking about that thing that condenses you down to your truest form. They want to know who you really are, when all the bullshit falls away.

That’s kind of sad, ain’t it?

Shouldn’t it be the reverse?

When baby writers come to me and ask how they “start writing,” I have no fucking clue, and I also know exactly how. When a constipated me glares at the keys and wonders how I “start writing,” it’s the same situation. I know how to start.

You just kinda do it. And eventually, rapture or obsession or hyperfocus/fixation whatever you want to call it Strikes!

It all makes sense, then.