I'm very slowly coming back around to having a desire to write more. Procrastination gets the best of me at times, my ADHD other times, and my Depression has its moments. But I keep a desire to write a few stories of my own nevertheless.
Right now, I'm working on my first novella that feels like it's gonna become a novel. But we shall see. Especially since I'm thinking most of this up in the moments I have and haven't gotten the things I like written down hardly enough. That being said, I'm learning continually to allow myself to have this Zero Draft and come back weeks later and declutter the passages, spruce it up, and expand on it in my First Rough Draft.
It's taken me quite some time to pin down the bigger elements of the story, but this is what I've got as a WIP summary.
What if plants were weaponized by a group of people that wanted to 'restart' civilization and bring a better balance of nature and humanoids? Would these people be considered bio-terrorists? Are they all bad people? Why go to such great lengths of destruction and elimination of a large group of people? Was there a better way to approach this 'rebalancing '?
Some Moral Reasoning for the 'deranged' bio-scientist and those who follow him.
He sees the nation (and perhaps the world) full of corruption, deceit, separation from nature, and sterilization of what once was in regards of living side by side with nature. Discontentment with the benefits of nature and the animals that live within it. And so he has reasoned that his cursing or mutation of the plants and animals to do his bidding more or less, as a way of cleansing the world. A cleansing of the horrific, (….))) . With the hopes that this will bring nature back to a higher or equal positioning of power of domain that of its counterpart, the humanoid.
@TehBamski@lemmy.world
I oscillate between the urge to write (hypergraphia from Geschwind, which I guess I have) and the feeling of pointlessness of whatever I'm doing. The latter gets exacerbated by self-loathing and Imposter Syndrome-like perception that my texts would be mistaken for the output from some AI out there, so I often catch myself refraining from publishing.
Same goes for drawings: even though I try to post my artworks alongside their behind-the-scenes (e.g. screenshot from the app I often use for drawing, disclosing all layers), it doesn't feel... enough "proof".
I still write things sometimes, but not as often as I used to do in the past, when I had a peak for my inspiration (gnosis): at that time (November 2023, IIRC), I wrote a book worth of mythopoetic ideas in mere two nights. The majority of my texts are surreal stories with strong occult elements, sometimes really imbued with ritualistic intentions.
Speaking of which,
My most recent story I published hours ago ( https://calckey.world/notes/ad2zi2yh2x ) touches on similar motif of global reset. In my case, however, there's anti-anthropocentric tone: human extinction, sparked by cosmic forces. I got inspired by the ongoing 80th UNGA phraseology I've been listening to (their recurrent, diplomatic jargon) to make a Lovecrafian-like ARG where a Headess of State ("Her Majesty of the Kingdom of Babylon") uses the rostrum to summon Ereshkigal (The Mesopotamian Goddess of Underworld & literally "Queen of the Great Earth" in Sumerian), followed by a non-human voice telling us how wildlife finally got to thrive once again with no humans.
Allow me to expand this idea to "cosmic terror", beyond human agency. I must nod to Sagan's Pale Blue Dot, but without the colors: cosmos is ancient (timeless), ineffable, indifferent. Ain't cosmic good or evil, even when humans would be rendered helpless (so, yeah, "bad" for us) if, say, the Vacuum Anomaly vaporized matter at light-speed, or if some other unknown, cosmic phenomenon took place... in fact, much of the cosmos is unknown, especially what lies beyond where light can't escape, as well as universe itself: maybe we're inside a cosmic black hole and/or it's all non-existent, zero-sum (illusion of) universe.
Deep down, we're adrift in abyss, falling without touching ground, for there's no ground but a "continuum" everywhere, sanding our biological vessels as we fall towards entropy: neither good nor bad. She, Primordial Chaos, can snap Her lips and all Ordo is buh-bye at the blink of an eye: not good or bad, She just is.
Similarly within the Pale Blue Dot: we're just another species. A hungry jaguar isn't good or bad, pathogens aren't good or bad, hurricanes aren't good or bad, Mother Nature isn't good or bad. They just are.