Even if I don’t make it to fifty-thousand words–
I’m going to write after NaNoWriMo. I’m going to sit at my desk (which is now in the family room) and just write. I’m going to write like I used to. Throughout high school and college, I had anger, angst. I used to sit at my desk and write for hours at a time. Papers, essays, stories, rants. It didn’t matter as long as I was sitting at a desk and writing. I had my laptop, I had WordPerfect 5.1, and the writing flowed forth.
Then I graduated, got several fairly decent jobs in a row, and got comfortable. I just stopped. I lost my “fire.” For the last couple of years, I have been writing journal entries, and little snippets that I deemed “storylets.” Character profiles, dialogue, descriptions of events. I shared these with others, and although they enjoyed them–but what were they a part of? They were interesting, and incomplete.
I agonized over how I was going to piece all of these together into a cohesive story. I chatted with my other friends. I started them, I deleted them. Nothing was good enough.
What I realize now is that nothing has to be “good enough.” It just has to be there.
First thing I’m going to finish is that short story I’ve been meaning to write. That one. The one with the guy and the girl. May or may not have happened to you. You tell me.
In the meantime, I have about thirty-one thousand more words to write, fifteen days to do it in, and no editor.
Anyone who’s interested in watching the creative process as it happens is welcome to come over and sit on my couch while I drink port and type like a madman.
“Someone call Guinness–I’m going from zero to drunk in twenty dollars!!”