Butterflies exist in nature as wonderful things that I don’t actually know what they’re for, in all truth. They’re like bird-bug hybrids, right? Who knows, they’re awesome enough. They used to be caterpillars, which are fun and eat leaves and things like that, but after the age of nine, they’re not really fun anymore. Because girls are there and somehow and they are much more interesting. Both butterflies and females have to do with dread.
The majestic creatures that flap this way and that looking all pretty all the time with their various patterns and curiosities.
And then there are the butterflies.
And I’m totally joking.
Those were butterflies, but it’s not the bird-bug hybrids that is to be under the microscope for a moment here. I’m referring to the ghost-variety that aren’t actually butterflies, but rather the pangs in your stomach that make you feel terrible because of some kind of impending life thing that could potentially happen which may not exactly turn out to be a positive thing. That’s a long, stupid explanation for something entirely elementary and not requiring of such elongation. But I’ve proven here, time and time again, that this site is a home for long-winded lighter fare from my brainface. So, apologies. Tap out anytime you like. That said, thank you for continuing to read this.
Writers feel dread on a regular basis. I’m confident all creative people do. Most of it is because we have the constant struggle of wanting to work on many projects at one time, usually because of over-inspiration or that we’re just plain nuts. So here comes the dread, the butterflies. The internal stomach-flapping and churning that does any number of negative things to our whole system that we have going here.
I look at the projects that I’ve completed on a regular basis along with the projects that I want to complete in the near future. Most of the time, it usually ends up that I’ll fill a few more lines with new ideas or extra parts to existing ideas. Stuff like character traits, plot twists, settings, and other story accoutrement. Unless I’m sedated by melatonin or alcohol, I’m very blessed to be able to have a working brain that usually works with me instead of against me. And yes, I’m fully aware that this will end up causing brain tumors at the worst possible time of my burgeoning writing career.
Future cancer aside, it’s really about how to deal with the dread. How to turn it from a negative thing into a positive thing. I try to associate it with the sense of accomplishment that I’ve achieved from past works that have been completed. Because when something that you have created from scratch is done, like totally completed and done, there are few things that top that. Even the presence of actual butterflies in a well-kept garden full of beautiful women wearing sundresses and that kind of thing.