I've finished my novel for this year.
I reached my word count, and I have a complete story, a story I would be fine sharing with others, if I didn't know it could be better. But it can be, and it will be.
I've got to add some description. I've got to go back and figure out what words work better. But I have finished, according to the rules.
55,263 words. People will say that isn't all that many words, for a novel. Those are mostly the people who have never written a novel, though. Those are mostly the people who have never written a novel in a month.
I say mostly, because there are people who have written way more than that in a month, people who have written novels filled with more. I was once one of those people, but even then, I realized that that 55,263 words is an accomplishment.
It's not just the writing that's difficult--although that's plenty difficult on its own. It's the other stuff, like finding the time to sit down at a computer night after night, while an apathetic world carries on around you. If that sounds a little dramatic and emo, I apologize. But it's true. You might have one or two people who let you get away with locking yourself in a room and hammering out the words you need, but the world in general doesn't give a shit. And honestly, it shouldn't. I wrote during the election this year, and I didn't fool myself for an instant into thinking my little book project was as important as the 2016 presidential election. But it's important to me, so when I miss a day of writing, it stings. And still the world doesn't care.
So you have to make time, and you have to care enough to stick to it. And you have to have the tenacity to keep going, even when it's difficult. I'll be 40 in a couple of weeks, man, and I've got a kid who's just over one.
Listen to me: I'm tired all the time. All. The. Time.
So almost every night that I sat down at my computer, what I wanted to do instead was crawl into bed. I was lucky to have someone in my life to encourage me, to give me time to write while she watched our little guy, and who judged me just enough so that I'd come in and write, even when I didn't feel like it.
It sounds like I'm whining, right? Or blowing my own horn about what a great job I did?
I guess I kind of am, but that isn't my intention. You see, writing has always been my thing. It has always come natural, and it has always been easy. I'm not saying I'm the best at it, not by any means, but it was always something I could do.
It's not, anymore. You might have noticed, in fact, that this very post is choppy and unfocused, and not really all that entertaining. I noticed that, too.
But I'm going to keep at it, because I am determined to update this site on a regular basis, and if I wait for the perfect post each time, that will never happen. I'm not saying that I'm going to toss up every scrap that I jot down, but when I tell myself it's time to write a post, I'm not letting myself off the hook.
I'm not going to skip writing night because I'm tired, or because I don' feel like it. Maybe I'll just end up writing garbage, but maybe not.
55,263 words. They probably aren't great words, but I'm happy with them. I'm in the process of reading through them, now, doing some light editing. And what I read, I'm liking. It won't change the world, but it will at least be a part of it.
And right now, that's enough for me.
Posted under The Rants on 11-29-16