I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Working at home, from time to time, is awesome. No distractions. Ice Cube at top decibel. Cold, tasty [non-alcoholic] beverage. (Hey…technically I’m still on the clock.) Nice, comfy sweat pants. (No pants in the summertime.)
But, in addition to some new developments at work and a recent personal writing project, I imagine that posting maybe be come less infrequent over the next few weeks.
As you can see by the newly-added icon, I’m participating in this year’s National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words. One month. Or bust.
I had a hard time committing to this goal. Wishy-washy personified.
I chalk this up to a couple things.
- I ended up getting really, unexpectedly into creative nonfiction writing towards the end of my studies. And I’ve pursued creative nonfiction much more heavily since I graduated. As a result, my confidence in writing fiction has seriously waned.
- I thrive in a workshop environment, which I obviously no longer have now that I’m not in school.
- Writing 1600+ words per night can be challenging when you write for a living. Sometimes after a long day, the last thing I want to see is a blinking cursor.
- There’s a hell of a lot of research that goes into writing lengthier pieces.
- Starting sucks.
Most of the abovementioned items are petulant excuses. Most of these things are blatant insecurities.
I verbalized most of these things to a writerly co-worker of mine and he, unknowingly, said the magic words to me the other day:
“Megan, it doesn’t matter if it’s total garbage.”
He’s right. It really doesn’t matter. That’s not really the point. The point is to stop thinking and start typing. I somehow forgot that. How stupid.
And thus, it’s time to begin again.
So my apologies for sparse posting or an excess of writerly rants and raves. I’ll try to post the entertaining stuff and save the dramatics for the novel. (Ha.)
[Jam of the Day]: My Morning Jacket, The Bear
[UPDATE: 11.4.2006] It’s not going great. It’s sort of torturous. It sort of makes me want to cry for my mother.