Being a Writer is…

Being a writer is-

..spending hours trying to describe how a character walked through a door.

…looking up synonyms for “said” every other sentence.

…typing for 3 hours straight and then deleting everything but one sentence the next day.

…having 10 works in progress you’re probably never going to finish.

…imagining yourself discussing your books on a talk-show even though you’ve never finished anything.

…drinking so much coffee you consider cutting out the middle-man and just getting a caffeine IV drip.

…overthinking movie and TV plot-lines and envisioning how you could write them better.

…washing down crippling self-doubt with a bottle of Captain Morgan.

…forgetting to eat because you’re almost finished writing that scene you’ve already written 6 different times and will likely write 30 more.

…convincing your relatives what you do is still relevant to a society that thinks watching rich people getting manicures somehow qualifies as entertainment.

…asking Google things that should probably get you put on a watchlist or excluded from a dinner party.

…having a million tabs open at all times.

…going to a coffee place so often the staff begins to recognize you and you have to start going somewhere else to avoid the awkwardness.

…wondering if your story idea has already been written by someone more talented and attractive than you.

…needing to use your “lucky pen” that you do your best writing with.

…spending 10 minutes looking up just the right white noise so you can concentrate for once in your life.

…composing a strongly-worded essay in your head while in the shower and immediately forgetting how to speak your own language as soon as you open a blank document.

…meticulously researching to get even the most minuscule detail correct in spite of the fact most readers probably won’t notice.

…reading the best writing advice and not following any of it.

…anxiously awaiting feedback on a W.I.P. from a friend/family member only for them to eventually tell you it was “good.”

…habitually fluctuating between thinking you’re a total artistic genius and everything you’ve ever written is an insult to the written word in the span of thirty minutes.

…hoarding stories told to you by friends and family in hopes of using it to flesh out a character one day.

…combing through your work to make sure everything is correct, only to print it and immediately find an escape.

…writing tirelessly for hours only to produce a handful of paragraphs people can read in five minutes tops.

…looking up writing memes instead of actually writing something.

…reading blog posts about writing to avoid your W.I.P.

…actually writing.

tenor

That First Damn Line

If anyone were to look up from their dinner plates at me at this moment they would see someone on the verge of taking a plastic spoon from her empty soup bowl and gouging her own eyes out.

I’m at a restaurant under the false impression that I am going to be doing some writing this afternoon.

I need to leave my house, I thought. There are too many distractions here. Surely if I go out into the world inspiration will just pour out of me.

Instead I ordered my food, sat down, fitfully read over my first draft, got food, and persisted to languish over a blank document for almost an hour.

Now my food is gone but my frustration remains.

The reason being I can’t think of that first line.

Every good story has an amazing opening hook, one that sinks its teeth into a reader and refuses to let go. The line that’s like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth, refusing to relent. The harder you try to shake free from it, the more it fights back.

I do not have that line.

I’m blocking.

I have a deadline, but I can’t stop resisting.

I type one line.

No, that’s wrong.

Delete.

I type another.

Wrong.

Delete.

Is this story even worth telling?

Type.

Delete.

Would music help?

Delete.

Should I read some more?

Type.

Delete.

Does anyone else care whether or not I finish this?

Delete.

Cliche.

Delete.

Cheesy.

Delete.

Perhaps the problem is not with the sentence. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the work itself but the expectation I’ve placed on myself.

I try to follow the current. To let the voice and tone of the piece speak through me, nevertheless, there’s that wood pecker of a critic, pecking away at my brain as I type.

If I try to escape, to take a break, I will not come back to it. I  will delay and wait for a perfect day that will never come. A day where I will be free of apprehension and self-doubt.

I wait for it.

I wait for it in the florescent lights, swallowed up by the light sound of chatter and the scraping of silverware on porcelain.

Type.

Delete.

Amidst Political Chaos, My Novel Progresses

It’s been over a week since I’ve updated this blog and I’ve been feeling guilty about neglecting it. I would use the excuse that I’ve been busy (and I have), but more than that, I’ve been emotionally rung out (haven’t we all) and I didn’t trust myself to use this medium without making it all about my thoughts and opinions about the events that have been taking place in my country.

I didn’t want to talk about politics because a) you probably don’t care about my politics and b) that’s not what this blog was intended for.

As turbulent and scary as the events of the last few days have been, they have assisted me in getting where I want to be with my writing. It’s easier to retreat into a shell and concentrate on a fictional world of your own design when people you love and care about are engaging in a verbal civil war.

I’ve absorbed myself in enough online articles and videos about the election that my brain finally cried “enough!” and demanded that I switch gears. There’s nothing I can do about the political climate. Time to put my focus on something I can control.

I can’t control what other people say or do or think or feel. However, I can control what I do and I’ve decided that I want to write my fiction, thank you very much.

For the next several weeks my primary focus will be on school, work, and my novel. Nonetheless, I will try to update more frequently.

I hope all of you are doing well no matter what side of the political aisle you stand on.

My Novella is a Novel Now

I suspected this day would come. I had just hoped I would be more ready for it.

I realized upon rereading the most recent draft of my latest project that I would not be able to do my characters justice in such a short amount of time.

If I want to tell the story and give it the emotional gut-punch it needs, I will have to increase the length and expand it into a full-length piece.

My original plan was to go big and then just chip away at it piece by piece until it was the right length. However, the longer I write the less likely that seems. The story keeps getting bigger and bigger, the characters have more and more to say. A measly 65 pages won’t suffice.

It has to be a novel.

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But Rachael, you say, what’s wrong with a novel? After all, novels are what really make money. 

Yes. But I am a painfully slow writer. It takes me, on average, two to three hours to write two pages and that’s if I know what I’m doing.

I expected to knock this bad boy out in a month or two. Now it will likely take me over a year.

You don’t understand how many projects I have planned already. Now they will be backlogged forever. Or at least until someone else comes up with the same idea I had and publishes it first.

I love writing this story, but….

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I have another time travel story, a crazy writer story, and a fantasy story all waiting for me to return to them and here I am hacking away at this monster of a project.

Sigh.

Well, there’s nothing for it.

I need to get back to work on this thing, or who knows how long it will take for me to complete it.

For everyone else is NaNoWriMo. For me it’s OhMyGoHoAmIStOnThChMo– Oh My God How Am I Still On This Chapter Month.

Good luck on your projects, good reader. I will need it with my current endeavor.