Recycled Post

Well folks, it's come to this. I liked this post when I wrote it but I posted it somewhere else. Now that I'm trying to gather my fractured personality into one place I thought I'd post it here as well. This was written and posted in December 2006.

I tried the NaNoWriMo novel. Which to those uninitiated is a challenge to write a novel in 30 days. The goal is 50,000 words in the month of November. That breaks down to 1667 words per day. I got to just under 42,000. Much closer than the 13,000 I arrived at the end of November 2005 with.

The idea is great. My novel, not so much. But that's not really the point. The point is to write something, anything really, every day and keep it up for 30 days solid to establish the habit. Sadly, when you allow it to either become such a priority that you end up resenting the fact that you have to write those damned 1667 words or such a barrier that every word is wrung from you with such effort you start to sweat just sitting down at your desk, it sorta defeats the purpose. Not that I got that way you see. :P Just that I can see how that whole let's establish a habit can backfire. :P

Meh, I suppose that's nothing more than justification :) But I did learn a few things about myself and my desire to be a writer. I really do want it; and I really need to stop believing those 'only from angst and strife comes good literature' stories I've been hearing. Writing has to be something I do because I enjoy it, not because it's ripped from me like some clinging tentacles that are unwilling to leave go. So when it's not on, it's not on and forcing it, working myself into a mood of anger, disgust or just plain depression will not feed any muses that are hovering nearby.

On the flipside? When the muse speaks I need to listen. I've learned to carry a small pad and pencil in my purse as well as a small tape recorder for those moments where writing won't work. And I need to record everything. Because if I try to write in an orderly fashion, telling that dream of an idea to just wait its turn it will dissolve into the ether, leaving only the barest of flavour to the air that surrounded it. A teasing touch on your tongue, a brush of whisper against your mind and then it is gone. Never to return, never to dance upon your heart again to send it quivering. Oh you'll think you've got it back but if you're truthful with yourself, there'll be some lingering word that just isn't quite right.

Writing can be painful :) but it doesn't have to be. And just because it isn't rent from someone's mind amidst the throes of angst and turmoil that frankly would just leave me with a headache doesn't mean it's not good enough to put out there to read. What some would call bubblegum for the mind, soft teen romance and a girlhood crush that turns to first love is just as important, just as hard to write frankly as any epic. Just ask Margaret Mitchell (author of the ultimate true love gone bad story, Gone With the Wind...which she wrote in long hand.)