At the start of the second week of my attempt to write a 50,000

Now, there are others of the writing ilk who despise November -- not because they dread trying to cram all those words into so short a span of time, but because they don't see the point. Or they don't like the pressure. Or they are editing their manuscripts for publication. Or they're about to head out on the road for a book-signing tour.
Or they have real jobs.
Or they'd rather sit around watching television shows online. (Note to self: Hulu is not your friend.)
I used to sit out, too, until I was so frustrated with all the writer's block that I decided to just break down that wall and do something totally crazy. Something that didn't require me to examine every word or idea, but to simply slap words on paper and tell myself a story I enjoyed.
That I did. Didn't get anywhere near 50,000 words, though.
Nor the next year.
Maybe this year.
As usual, the story is bizarre and unrealistic, and other projects lay abandoned -- but only temporarily -- while the excitement for the sheer act of telling a story is coming back.
Gotta work myself up to it, though.
Let me just settle in on the couch, bring up the Internet, and catch a television show or two while I think about what to write next.
No comments:
Post a Comment