Let me start this blog by saying thank you. Thank you readers, followers, commenters, friends, and family. Yesterday the blog saw an unprecedented amount of views. I’m still debating whether my mom was just clicking in to reread things, or if I actually had that many views, but I’m running with the good feeling it’s left me either way.
So, thanks everyone!
Yesterday was also a great day for my novel. I plugged in 1,356 words in less than two hours before my shift. This sudden flow of writing has me glowing and confident in a way I’ve lacked since last fall.
So now here I am, back in my Starbucks on my day off, ready to do it all over again. But what if it doesn’t come as easy today? What if, as opposed to yesterday, I have to fight for every word, and each of them comes after a good solid ten minutes of head vs. proverbial brick wall?
That’s what we’re here to talk about today.
We’re all familiar with the rush of creation; that moment when an idea strikes you. You can see what could be, and you’re certain your sole purpose is to bring it to life. You write feverishly, pen too slow to capture all your brain is giving you. There’s no stopping you.
Until you wake up and there’s quiet. No more sentences zipping by your brain, no more images of what happens next. You’re left companionless in a sea of papers, ideas, and scenes; the aftermath of the mania.
Inspiration has left.
When this hit me late last fall, I convinced myself it happened for good reason. My writing was a terrible shell of what writing should be, I told myself. My novel was stupid. Any sort of thing would discourage me and convince me that I’d made a terrible mistake.
But, a tight circle of friends and family insisted I continue. Told me I’d be a fool to give up now. And their words rang true to a meek voice inside. The me so beat down by self-doubt that it had nearly given up, until someone stood up for it.
So I kept trying. And failing. The novel wasn’t working. I couldn’t do anything of any good. So, I saw other stories, one’s I’d already written in classes past. I put them up for scrutiny and editing and submitted one. It was my first submission in my life, and it got picked up.
Let me stress that this sort of success NEVER happens. I was told more times than I can count to be ready for rejection. But, it didn’t come. What better boost to my ego could I ask for?
But still the novel was giving me trouble. I wrote here and there, but nothing consistent.
I realize now that maybe it was forgivable to not write so much this last school year. I worked two jobs and went to school full time. I had nearly an hour commute to my work and school. Any downtime I had, I slept or spent time with loved ones. I simply didn’t make the novel a priority. I knew I was moving across country soon, and wanted to spend time with those I wouldn’t see again anytime in the near future.
But, now, in Oregon, I have all the time in the world. I have nothing but time. One job, no school, very few friends or family to dole out time to…
And now the novel is important again.
I know this got a bit rambling, but what I’m saying is that, you have to make your writing important to you. If you’re not writing, it’s because you don’t want to. It’s not because you don’t have time. If you really wanted to write, you’d make time.
Your writing is just like any other relationship. If you neglect it, it will be difficult with you. It won’t cooperate. But if you spend time with it, and make it important, you’re more likely to find success. The more success you have the more inspiration you’ll find.
It’s a cycle, and recognizing it is only the start.