For me, the most important thing about starting to write is
It’s so easy to fall into a routine of minutiae. It’s easy to think that filling the day with little menial tasks is actually accomplishing something, is DOING something. After all, it’s those little tasks that niggle at the back of your brain – or even sometimes at the front – that make you think you’re
NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE.
Except that you can spend your whole day doing little things – those little things that get undone just as soon as they are finished – and it’s like writing love poems in the sand at low tide. Just an hour later, they’re washing away with the incoming waves, and you have nothing to show for your efforts, except perhaps a memory.
And are those the memories I want to create with my time?
Not precisely, no.
I think perhaps having the memory of seizing that 1:23 am surge of energy, getting up, fishing out my glasses from the bottom drawer of my fiance’s bathroom, making a cup of abysmally dark coffee spruced up with cinnamon and a half teaspoon of sugar, and writing something – ANYTHING – is the memory I want.
I don’t care that I’m not getting a full night’s sleep!
Let me shout that from the rooftops: I DON’T CARE!
I do care about finally getting my fingers on the keyboard, staring at the screen, and taking dictation from the little narrator inside my head.
That’s what I need to do.
There are two books that I need to get out:
1) Uncertain Waters – though that’s just a working title – it’s the story of my life, my journal, my craptastic truth that is as strange as fiction
2) The Children’s Book – that is written. It’s WRITTEN. It’s complete. I just need to type it up and discover how to pitch it to a literary agent.
And it’s the fear of failure and the fear of success that are holding me back. It’s easier to be a writer who hasn’t tried than one who has tried and failed. And dammit, when I admit that to myself, it seems so chicken, so opposed to who I say I am, that I will do something about it.
So I will post here. I will blog. I will update with weird irregularity. Because I need a place to think out loud.
And I will see this book thing through. I will figure out how to share my stories. I won’t just jot them down; I will send them along.
My stories will be my fledgling thoughts, and I will urge them out of the nest to test their wings.