Some day, I hope to read this post while sitting on the back porch of
my house that sits along the Oregon Coast. Or in Ireland. I'm really
not picky.
I'm in the midst of one of those writer woes where I question every
word I write and bang my head several times against a keyboard. Then,
during the moments that I genuinely enjoy what I've written, I
proceed to question if this is really what I should be spending my
time dong because it doesn't seem like it is a viable option for my
future. After all, at twenty four, real jobs and real lives need to
assert themselves as opposed to the fantasy of writing a novel about
children who are being forced to grow up.
I have jokingly been told that if I was the first child born in my
family, there probably would have been no more. That is how I feel
about book three. If this was the first book I've tried to write, I
wouldn't have written any more of it. It's not that what I'm writing
isn't good and its not as if I'm struggling to come up with idea's.
It's that this is the book that needs to wrap everything up. The pay
off that I've been asking readers to wait for is finally here and I
don't want to disappoint. Add that on top of what I know about the
publishing world and suddenly I become frustrated. Not only do I need
to make a compelling story, but I need to do one in a certain amount
of words because the publishing companies know that the general
populace has the shortest attention span in decades and can only
handle so many pages thrown at them. My word count, almost triples the amount of words usually allotted to a new author. And that is only the first book. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, especially in the fantasy genera, but I don’t think my ego is big enough to assume that I will fall into that small little category of authors who managed to get around that. So, as I'm writing, I find myself wanting to edit and cut as I go, which then just hinders the creative process, which then makes me decide that I should probably cut out certain storylines, which then makes me upset because I'm the writer, of course I think its important to the story and so on and so on and so on. It's been a frustrating loop of ick that I'm sure plenty of writers have gone through before. In the words of the great Chukc Shurley "writing is hard".
But that's not all. No. Because that? That I could probably handle.
I then start thinking about the fact that it doesn't matter if I
somehow drink a magic potion and become the greatest writer to ever
live. It doesn't mean a damn thing if you are not in the right place
and the right time and even then, that might mean nothing if you
don't know how to market yourself.
Head. Meet Wall. Become great friends because you two will collide
for the next x amount of years.
The publishing world is a mish mash of frustration and tears and
proverbial blood that makes me want to run
Add this overwhelming panic to everyday life like college, work,
trying to maintain a social life, a blog, and a genuine desire to
consume arts and other literature to keep up with the writing world
so I can stay on top of the business, and you have just created a
very frazzled me. My usually tidy house is in a disarray that I
can't even muster up the energy to clean and every day that I don't
manage to get out and do some amount of exercise in order to
hopefully counteract the shotty immune system that I was blessed
with, I feel guilty. Furthermore, there are about a dozen and a half
things that I've committed to over the next six months and I have a
dwindling bank account because of situations popping up like sick
cats, personal emergencies, or you know, food. I somehow managed to
grocery shop today which was a feat all on its own.
Last night, this all came to a head. The storm has been brewing for
a while and last night it hit in that jittery too much caffeine and
not enough hours in the day kind of way. So, I made myself a deal.
There's not much I can do about all this. Work and college and
social lives are always going to happen because they have to and most
of the time that I'm doing all these things, I'll be thinking about
my story. And its because I'll be thinking about my story, that I'm
not going to give up on writing because obviously its important
enough for me to spend hours every day obsessing over. But there are
things I can do to become more proactive.
- Write three pages everyday because eventually, those three pages will turn into a book.
- Work on my blog or Whimsy Travels (because yes, while I'm freaking out about all this, I of course started a new project to add to my time spent on the computer) at least an hour a day.
- Do your damn schoolwork! Thank God I'm good in class.
- See the sunshine because they tell me its good for you.
- Do not worry if your house is in a disarray or if you have to turn off your phone and neglect your life for a bit. It's not always going to be this way.
I'm not sure where I was going with any of that.
In other news, in order to calm the chaos of my brain a bit, I've
decided to re-read Harry Potter. I sometimes forget why I love
writing and stories and then I remember nights spent reading by
flashlight or days spent eating pumpkin seeds while reading these
stories on my bed. It's time to remember why I love creating and who
better a reminder that J.K Rowling and the completely memorizing
world she created.
Like I said. Hopefully, one day, I will be sitting on a beautiful
back porch, cup of perfect coffee in my hands, reading this old entry
of mine and laughing at the inner turmoils that were completely
unnecessary.
Or I will be in a straight jacket, in a comfortable mental
institution, being fed pudding.
