Now I know I am a glutton for punishment.
Every morning, I wake up, and think to myself of the possibilities of the day, and I am downright hopeful. I’m filled with the prospect of writing glorious amounts of pages, filling my yet unfinished novel (which one, it’s always a toss up) to the brim with witty dialogue and unique ways to tell a story, and poof…real life intrudes.
It’s really difficult to devote time to write, and write well when it seems like the whole entireity of humanity is waiting and watching to see you fail.
I’m over exaggerating, but sometimes it feels like that. Between the never ending emails that float into my mailbox almost every minute at work, to the thought of folding laundry and catching up with friends I haven’t seen in a while, I realize I don’t “schedule” enough time to myself to actually sit down and write, and when I get the chance to, what do i think of?
Blog posts. Witty, funny, blog posts.
(and of course I am using a blog post to bitch about my lack of writing intitiative to write anything but blog posts. This is the circle of shame that is my life) This post is obviously not one of those witty, or funny posts. This is my kick in the behind to myself.
Writing, seriously writing, is more like a job than any job I have ever worked before. And the thing about writing is that you don’t just do it, it becomes you. To quote Ernest Hemingway; “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.” Maybe I am not ready to bleed myself dry just yet. Some days, I honestly feel like I have given too much of myself already to the books I have written, and then I go back, read the chapters, and I realize I haven’t bled enough. The pages are like placing a leech onto my skin, when I really need to just open the vein and let everything I have drain out.
It’s hard to do when you already feel drained.
So, now, in front of all five of you that have read this so far, I’m making it a point to schedule some me time, which equals novel writing time. I am considering it a minature NaNoWriMo, wherein every Saturday, I will sit at the laptop, open the veins, and pour out at least 4,000 words, or I will not do anything else the rest of the day. Be it folding laundry, or making dinner, or the ever present scooping of the cat litter, I shall not do anything but write, first and foremost….
Because laundry and cat litter waits for no woman.