This Shit Is Working

I'm not sure how this happens to me, but time seems to slip away.  I haven't written a blog post in 2 weeks.  Eeek!!!! I am doing other writing, but sheesh.  Ridiculous.  You would think not working would lend itself to developing a better schedule.  Not always true.  Because I have so much time, then I tend to waste it.  But I am tweaking it, always adjusting to find the balance.

I figured something out today.  Sometimes it takes me awhile.  I've been job searching and worried about what skills I don't have or if I can get a job that makes more than minimum wage, wishing I had a better career path, a profession.  All those nasty little thoughts that come up when you are actively making things happen.  

And then I realized something.  I am a writer.  It is the thing I live for, the thing that sometimes keeps me up at night and the thing I must do lest I go crazy.  So, everything in my life is in support of that.  Even my job.  If I end up working part-time to pay my bills, so I can write in the other part-time, then so be it.  

I have been playing small.  Pretending I'm not something I am.  I have stories burning inside me and I have to get them out.  I have things to say that people need to hear.  And no one can write the stories that I can.  As Neil Gaiman says, (loosely paraphrased), "there are better, smarter writers out there, but none that can write a Neil Gaiman story like I can".  I love that.  No one can write the stories I need to write.  So I continue on.  

A few weeks ago my brother "encouraged" me to spend 15 minutes a day working on my novel.  That's it. Not 4 hours, not even 2 hours.  Though I haven't spent 15 minutes every day, I have been doing this more often than not.  Guess what?  I now have 5,300 words towards my book I did not have two weeks ago.  My target word count is 80,000, so I still have a journey ahead of me.  But that's okay.

I most often write this story at night.  It seems to be appropriate as I want it to be scary.  I like to sit down and see what the story wants to tell me.  And, in that 15 minutes, I almost always come up with 500-700 words to keep the story going.  Are they good words, perfect words?  Nope.  Will I have to edit?  Oh yea.  But all the best writers, at least the ones I love the most, say it comes down to this: getting your ass in the chair and writing.  Every day.  Inspiration or not.  



My Book

Last November, I completed NaNoWriMo.  I sat down and wrote out 50,000 words in the month of November.  And since that time, my book has been staring me in the face. It sits in the folder, all alone.

For whatever reason, I am afraid of my own book.  Afraid to finish.  I know what the next steps are, and where I need to take the plot.  I have a million and one writing resources.  I don't touch those either.  Steven Pressfield calls it Resistance, with a capital R.  I think he's right.  

This is the thing I am meant to do, write.  I know it.  Yet, I still deny it, still run from it, still allow my ego to distract me.  I know if I finish, then I am obligated to get the book out there.  Whether through traditional publishing, or self-publishing, it has to happen.  I never give myself a deadline, so then it is impossible for me to fail.  

I am making a promise, a public promise.  My book will be finished by Dec 31st, 2015.  Good, bad, ugly.  Whatever it is, it will be.  Because my soul longs for this.  I am dying to get my stories out and for some reason decided it's okay to punish myself and not do the thing I love the most.  

Ridiculous.  So my ego is going on a shelf, in trade for my dream.  My real, true dream of being a published novelist and a freelance writer.  There.  I said it.  Now that wasn't so, hard was it?  What is the dream you are running from?  Sit down, pound it out and do it.  Because it will never let you go if you don't.