I like to write. But I’m a terrible writer.
Let me clarify that. The writing itself isn’t terrible. Sometimes it’s even on the fair side of passable. It’s my discipline as a writer that’s atrocious. If you’re silly enough to follow along here, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I may post every day for a week then disappear off the map for a month. Only to resurface with a random post.
Of course, Blogger, in my mind, isn’t synonymous with Author. There’s no story arc; there’s no plot hook, or resolution, or character development. It’s akin to stream of consciousness put to the page. I think of it as sort of therapeutic soundbites that I use to order my thoughts and resolve my feelings.
But I want to be an author. I want to tell a story that the reader can lose themselves in. A spark of narcissism in me wants to see my name in print. Even if I only sell one copy. To my mother.
I mean I’ve read some pretty terrible novels that somehow got published. How hard can it be?
I’ve developed numerous outlines in my head. I’ve contemplated characters, setting, and very specific imagery. I’ve even gotten started a time or two. And then left the characters abandoned, wondering their fate.
I’ve been enjoying the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction competition because it has forced me to stick with it. However, it’s a small step – 1000 words.
In an effort to further push myself, I’ve signed up for NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. I’ll have the entire month of November to write 50,000 words of a novel. On your mark, get set, go!
Never mind that I’m hoping to earn enough points to also be participating in the 3rd challenge of Flash Fiction. And performing in a production of Tommy. November might be a busy month!
If anyone else out there is participating – I could use buddies. Look for nod1v1ng! (FYI: those I’s are actually ones)